Butterflies
by TJ-TeeJay
Summary: Bad news prompts Adam to turn up on Joan's doorstep in his time of need, paving the way for reconnection. This is a collaboration between Sisterdebmac and TeeJay and is set in the future when Adam and Joan are both 22. CHAPTER 29 UP.
1. In Times Of Need

**Butterflies**

_by Sisterdebmac & TeeJay_

**Summary:**  
_Bad news prompts Adam to turn up on Joan's doorstep in his time of need, paving the way for reconnection. Very dark and very angsty at first, more and more fluffy towards the end. This is a collaboration between Sisterdebmac and TeeJay._

**TeeJay's Author's Note:**  
_This started out as a one-shot, one that I wrote, titled "Butterflies". It was this really dark, angsty piece that I didn't think was worth posting. But since both Sisterdebmac and GermanJoan kept yelling for more of my stories, I eventually sent it to them, if only to shut them up for a while. (No offense, guys, I know what it's like to be craving more stories!)_

_And then something amazing happened. Sisterdebmac said she was so moved and inspired by my little story here that she wrote a second chapter. Completely out of the blue. Wow. That's when this thing developed a life of its own because I kept writing to continue Sisterdebmac's storyline and she kept continuing mine, each of us feeding off each other's ideas. It's been an amazing experience. Still is. I don't think I've had this much fun writing fan fiction before. Thank you. For everything. Especially brightening my office day right around 3:30 PM every day._

**Sisterdebmac's Author's Note:**  
_What an adventure this has been! I had no idea. I hadn't even finished my very first JOA fic (The Haircut) when I read TeeJay's first chapter of what became Butterflies. But as soon as I put it down, I knew that was not going to be the end of the fic. It has been a delightful back and forth since then. And there's no end in sight yet._

_Also of note, I couldn't even read fics that one might consider smut before we got started on this fic. Now, I can't seem to stop writing them! But hey, at least in our story Joan and Adam are grown-ups. Somehow it just feels right that after all this time, they wouldn't be able to keep their hands off each other. So settle in for a little angst, a little romance, a whole lot of fluff... and if you dare to delve into the Mature Version of Butterflies, some serious smut._

_Once again, I must say that if not for reading and falling in love with the stories of my two favorite JOA writers, TeeJay and Tote, I would not be doing this. Thanks to both of you for all your great work! And thanks to TeeJay for the help and encouragement, and the giggles._

**Additional Note:**  
_Due to some... well... heavy fluff, reader discretion is advised. I'd say from chapter 4 on, this gets quite juicy. Nothing too heavy, but let's just say that Adam and Joan are enjoying each other's physical proximity in very sensual ways. _:o) _Don't say you haven't been warned._

_And this story is not the "whole story". We have a couple more scenes in between that aren't posted with this version of "Butterflies" because they have a definite R-rating. If you're interested in reading them, check the M-rated section here (story ID 3042947).__ We're gonna post those scenes there after the chapters they belong with. Think of this like extras on a DVD—the deleted scenes. But don't worry, this story can stand alone and still work if you're not into that kinda thing.  
_

_Now get your remote controls and hit the PLAY button. No need to beg you to leave lots of reviews, please, right?_

**Summary:**_  
A devastated Adam turns up on Joan's doorstep unannounced to seek comfort. Joan tries to do the best she can for him._

**Rating: **_PG-13  
_

**Disclaimer:**  
_These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool._

* * *

**_Chapter 1_  
In Times Of Need**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

**Author's Note:**  
_This one's dedicated to Sisterdebmac. Because her incredibly sad and angsty dream that she shared on the message board sparked something in me that made this appear in my head. Kinda scary, don't you think? Or just plain weird? Or normal? Nah, not normal, but what's so great about normal? (If I may borrow that phrase from "Roswell"...) Thanks for the great e-mail conversations, girl! They have made and still make my day. And for feeding the obsession, of course. In a good way._

_Oh, and I sure need to mention GermanJoan again. You keep being my "friend in need" when it comes to needing input and ideas for all these stories. Keep that going, I'm loving it. Also thank you for all the hugging and cheering me up when I'm down or whining about something insignificant or other._

_You both rock, dudes! Now, please get your Dorquette Drool Towels and prepare for a very dark ride into yet another future Joaniverse that I hope won't keep existing beyond this story, mainly because it's so incredibly sad. It was one of my infamous scene flashes. And when they happen, there's no resisting them until you've written them down._

**Disclaimer:**  
_These characters and settings are not mine. Nor am I claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. I'm not making any money out of this, although I wish I was._

* * *

She knew something was wrong as soon as she looked at him. The way his shoulders were slumped, his head was bowed, his eyes shone with something desperate as he met her gaze.

Joan's hand went to the edge of her apartment door she had just opened upon someone ringing her bell, so as to prepare herself for whatever was to come. "Adam, what is it? What's wrong?" she inquired softly, yet urgently.

His voice was even quieter than usual, she could barely hear him above the loud noises of the TV that came from next door—old Mrs. Leary's hearing wasn't as good as it once had been.

"My dad died."

Joan gaped at him, not really understanding. "What? Oh my God. When?"

Her hand went to her mouth as she stepped, almost stumbled back into the hall. Adam followed her wordlessly.

They just stood opposite each other when she had closed the door. She dared look into his eyes again, and there were no tears in them. Just shock and confusion and that silent desperation.

"This afternoon," he answered her question, his words hollow and empty.

"Oh Adam," she managed in a sympathetic, pained voice. "Here, give me your jacket."

He just stood limply, as if taking off his jacket was too much effort, put too much strain on his energy reserves. She took a step closer and carefully helped him out of his jacket that she hung on the coat rack.

He didn't move, it was as if he'd forgotten how to function. She didn't know what to do except to do the only thing she could think of. She stood in front of him and took him into her arms, squeezing him just enough for him to know that she was there for him.

He didn't react at first, didn't do anything, but after a moment, his arms came around her back and he returned the embrace. Very softly, she whispered into his ear, "I'm so sorry."

If Joan didn't have her chin buried in his shoulder, she would have seen that Adam's eyes filled with tears. The very first tears after he had received the phone call, after he had been confronted with that ultimately final statement at the hospital that had informed him of his father's passing.

But she didn't have to see them. She knew. She knew even before she could feel his shoulders shaking, the sobs racking his body. She squeezed him a little tighter yet, let him cry while they were still standing in the dark corridor. Her own eyes slowly filled with tears and she had to sniffle.

She didn't know how long they stood there, how long she stroked his back and just let him pour out his grief, his shock, his pain. It might have been five minutes, it might have been twenty, she couldn't tell. Nor did it really matter.

When he had quieted down somewhat, she gently pushed him away from her, ever so softly wiping at the tears on his cheeks with her thumbs. "Come here," she whispered and guided him to the couch in the living room on which he sat down.

Joan went into the kitchen to get a glass of water for each of them, which she put down on the couch table in front of them, more out of habit than out of necessity. She sat down next to him, not knowing what to say, how to comfort him. What could she say that would make any difference? He had already lost a mother, and now his father too? That was just something unimaginable, something incomprehensible for her. She still had two healthy parents—and hoped it would stay that way for a long time.

The silence grew heavy, but maybe it was silence that he needed. Just to know that someone was there who cared. She looked at him. His gaze was empty, fixed on the edge of the couch table. His hands were folded, resting on his knees—and she could see that his knuckles were white from squeezing his hands together.

She put one of her hands on his and she could feel him relax somewhat. It prompted him to look at her as he removed his right hand from his left to turn it so he could take Joan's hand that still rested on top of his. She intertwined her fingers with his, much as they had often done when they were still a couple in high school. How long ago had that been? Four years? Five? She didn't see him that often anymore now and she tried to remember when was the last time that she had before today. Two months ago, she guessed, maybe three.

Joan didn't ask any questions, didn't prod him to talk. She knew he would when he was ready.

She didn't have to wait long. Eventually, the words poured from his mouth, very softly but still more collected and composed than she would have thought. "It happened this afternoon. It was a stroke, the doctors told me. He was at work, and he just collapsed, they said he didn't even feel it coming. They tried to revive him all the way to the hospital. He never regained consciousness."

She turned her head to study his face, could see that his eyes were filling with tears again. "And then I got this phone call, but they wouldn't tell me anything specific, so I went to the hospital and ... and he was already dead." His voice cracked, the tears now freely flowing down his cheeks. "He was already dead," he repeated. "I ... I couldn't even say goodbye. Couldn't even tell him I loved him."

She squeezed his hand. "He knew, Adam. He knew you loved him. Parents know things like that."

"Yeah," he whispered. "But I wish I could have told him one last time."

After another minute of silence, she softly asked, "Does Grace know yet?"

"No," he replied. "It took quite a long time at the hospital and then I left and I ... I don't know ... I just drove around and somehow I ... ended up here."

It was as if he was saying that this was the place he wanted to be, this was the first place he could think of that offered the comfort he was seeking. The soft ground to fall on in desperate times of need.

"Do you want me to call her?" Joan offered.

Adam met her gaze. "No," he whispered. "I'll ... I'll do that."

"Okay." She knew it was hard on him. So much harder than she could imagine. "Okay," she said a second time.

They continued to sit in silence, hands still intertwined. She was aware that she had a loose appointment with a couple of friends to go out that night, like they did every other Friday night, but somehow that seemed utterly insignificant right now.

"Is there anything I can do?" she carefully asked. "Anything I can help with?"

Adam just slowly shook his head. She had the suspicion he wasn't really thinking straight right now. And maybe that was okay. It was certainly understandable.

There were so many things going through her head, she so desperately wanted to help him, to take care of him. "Have you eaten? Do you want anything?" God, that sounded so lame.

He shook his head again, still not saying anything. Not knowing what else to do, she put her hand around his shoulder, drawing him to her. He didn't resist when she pulled him closer.

For a long time they just sat there, Adam's head resting on Joan's shoulder. She could hear him sniffling occasionally and she knew all he needed right now was someone to be there, someone who wouldn't ask questions and wouldn't try to come up with false promises of things turning out okay.

They were both violently jerked to wakefulness half an hour later by Joan's phone ringing. She quickly got up to answer it.

"Hey, girlfriend, where the hell are ya?" her friend Lydia cheerfully piped into her ear.

Joan quickly went into the kitchen, to have some more privacy. "Lydia, I'm sorry," she said. "I can't make it tonight."

"What? Why?" Lydia was oblivious to her current situation, of course.

Joan sighed. "Adam's father died today and he came by and ..." What else did she need to say?

"Oh." Lydia's voice clearly fell above the pub-noise commotion Joan could hear in the background. "Well, that's ..." Obviously, Lydia didn't have any good words either for a situation like this. "Joan, I'm sorry," she said, her voice now truly sympathetic. Lydia didn't actually know Adam all that well. "I guess I'll see you on Monday, then."

"Yeah," Joan said to her friend. "See you on Monday."

When she came back into the living room, Adam was standing up, looking at her with apologetic eyes. "Jane, I should go. I..." He trailed off and drew his hand through his hair. He looked so worn, so tired.

She stood on the other side of the couch now, meeting his weary gaze. "You shouldn't be alone tonight. You shouldn't be driving. You're exhausted, try to get some sleep." It wasn't so much a demand as an offer.

"No, I... I'll be all right." There wasn't much resistance in his voice despite the negating answer.

"I'll take the couch," she said, trying to sound comfortingly resolute. "You need a proper bed."

Adam just looked at her, not able to make a decision. She could see that he was hesitant to accept her offer. "Please, it's the least I can do," she almost begged.

"Okay," he said in a low voice.

"I'll get you something, hang on," she told him. She went into the bedroom and came back with one of her old, baggy t-shirts and a pair of men's pajama pants that she had taken to wearing at night. She guessed they'd just about fit Adam's now a little more well-toned but still lean figure.

"Here, you should be all right with these."

He accepted them wordlessly and went into the bathroom. She ventured into the bedroom again, prepping everything for her spontaneous but welcome visitor, even though the circumstances weighed heavily on her own heart.

When she entered the bedroom after she had been preparing for bed in the bathroom herself, she found him lying on his back, the covers she had placed there for him covering his body to his torso. He was staring at the ceiling, but his gaze lingered on her as she went to the other side of the king size bed to gather her sheets she would be taking to the couch.

Adam's gaze was almost pleading on her as he asked, "Jane? Can you stay here tonight?"

At first she didn't know what he meant, but then it registered with her. "Yeah," she said softly. "Of course."

She put the covers back down and lay down on the mattress next to him. She hadn't known he needed the physical nearness that badly, but she was there a hundred percent to give him whatever he thought he needed.

She wasn't sure just how close he wanted her to be, so she just lay on her back, waiting for a reaction—if it was to come at all. Maybe it was just enough for her to be there, next to him, for him to know she would be by his side, no matter what. Joan could already feel herself drifting off to sleep. She tried to fight it, but it was battle she knew she would eventually lose.

The illuminated numbers on her electronic alarm clock told her it was 03:49 when she awoke. Shaking off the first few seconds of disorientation, she suddenly remembered what happened and realized that the side of the bed next to her was empty.

She wearily got up and found him in the living room, standing by the window, staring out into the dark night and the sky that was obscured by clouds that looked like they would shed their moisture any time now. She quietly went up to him to stand next to him.

"Hey," she said very softly. "Can't sleep, huh?"

He just shook his head slowly from side to side. His bare forearm brushed hers as he did and she could practically feel the goose bumps on his skin. Getting the fleece blanket from the armchair, she unfolded it and lightly draped it around his shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze as she did so.

"Adam," she whispered. "You should try to get some sleep."

He looked at her, his stare empty at first before he focused on her after a few seconds, like a movie camera panning in and zooming into focus. "Yeah, I guess," was his listless answer.

"Come on." She softly guided him into the bedroom and into bed. And this time she didn't keep her distance. She laid down right next to him, his head on her chest, stroking his hair ever so softly. "Close your eyes," she whispered to him. Her fingers caressed the hairline on his temple as she said, "Let it go, just for now."

She could feel him relaxing, feel the tension in his muscles loosen ever so slightly. He was getting there. She lay like that for a while, could feel him drifting off to sleep, his breathing becoming more regular, his breaths longer and deeper. He had finally fallen asleep and she felt just a tiny portion of gratitude for small favors.

She knew tomorrow would be just as hard a day, maybe even harder. All the more important that Adam caught some much needed sleep. She stopped stroking his hair and tried to find a position that would be comfortable to sleep in without awakening him.

She wanted him to wake up in the morning with her being there, with him knowing he could count on her. Always. Even in times like this. Especially in times like this. And she was glad that their friendship had endured all those hard stretches, all those years of ups and downs. And then, suddenly, she could feel those butterflies in her stomach, those butterflies that she hadn't felt for a long time.

She wondered what they meant, but before she could come to a conclusion, sleep claimed her and took her to a place where everything was just a little bit better, or at least a little less tragic.

* * *


	2. The Pub

_**Chapter 2**_  
**The Pub**

_by Sisterdebmac_

* * *

**Author's Note:**  
_This vignette grew out of TeeJay's story, "Butterflies", which I thought was just beautiful. Terribly sad, but great. Not long after I finished reading that story, this one began unfolding and demanded to be written down. Again, I'm new at this and it's just another trifle. Don't expect genius._

_This is a future Joaniverse story. No specific date has been pinned down but it seems to be about 5 years after the end of S2, so that's what I'm going with._

**Summary:**_  
Carl Rove's wake in one of Arcadia's Irish pubs, simple as that. Or maybe not so simple for Adam and Joan._

**Rating:**_ PG-13  
_

**Disclaimer:**  
_They're not mine...blah blah blah. Barbara Hall...blah blah blah. CBS...blah blah blah_

* * *

Joan was resolutely by Adam's side for all of it—the arrangements, the day and a half of viewings, the funeral and now the wake. She counted seven people who asked if she was his girlfriend and three who asked if she was his wife.

She leaned against the top of the stand-up piano in the only Irish pub in Arcadia and watched him try to play. Johnny O'Herlihy's was his dad's favorite hang-out. Even after he declared that he'd taken his last drink. He always said they made a mean Irish breakfast bang-up.

Adam slowly picked out the chords and runs of his dad's favorite piano tune, "Colour My World". Carl could sing it. Adam never could. He remembered his dad singing it to his mom. He was only a kid, but he would accompany his father on piano.

He had been too upset to even consider his dad's request to play it at his mother's funeral. Then, two years after his mom died, Price stole Adam's uncanny musical gift. Now, he wished he could have remembered enough of the song so that he could've played it at his father's funeral.

Instead, when it was his turn to say something, he had only managed to recall a few of his dad's favorite quotes and one almost inappropriate story. He was sure he sounded completely lame at the podium, but it was all he could muster. He did notice that he made a few heads nod and elicited a couple of laughs. In the end, when he broke down because he saw his Aunt Louisa break down, he retreated quickly from the cold light of the pulpit to the safe harbor of the pew.

Joan reached for his hand when he crumpled onto the bench beside her. He gratefully threaded his fingers through hers. And he cupped their joined hands in his other one. She ached for him. He was barely 22 and he was an orphan. A chill rattled up her spine. He had no one in the world now except one aunt and one grandparent on each side and a couple of cousins. And they all lived so far away that he barely saw them. Who did he really have to turn to? _Me and Grace_, she realized. _That's about it._

He had confessed to her, over the breakfast she made for him at her apartment the day after his father died, that he hadn't dated anyone in almost four months. His self-isolation was something that always worried Joan. She often reminded herself that artists were naturally fairly solitary people. But there was more to it with Adam.

At least he was out and among friends now. Grace, Joan, Joan's mom and dad and a few of her close friends joined all of Adam's dad's friends and family, and his mom's sister, Maggie at the pub for the wake. Drinks flowed, stories were swapped, photos passed around. She saw laughter and tears in nearly equal measure. The crowded room was a great comfort.

But tomorrow, when all these people went back to their lives, he would be all alone with his loss. He would confront that gaping black hole in his center—the weight, and the panic at the thought of carrying it. It would be his to deal with.

_"Colour my world with love."_

There were blacks and grays in love. And deep, deep reds. But the color of today was just a tepid shade of... nothing. A world where the lights had gone out and life had bled away. An absence of color. Like the thick, obvious make-up on Carl Rove's face. Adam fought to put the image of his dad in a coffin out of his mind.

He stopped playing just like that. And he laughed to himself.

"What?" Joan said quietly.

"That's such a cheesy song." he said, reaching for his glass on the piano top. He took a long draw from the pint of Irish stout he'd been nursing.

"You okay?" Joan asked watching him stand and drain the beer.

"Getting there. But I think I need an Irish whiskey." He went to the bar, plopped down his empty glass, raised his hand to get the bartender's attention and said to him, "Shot of Bushmill's Black."

"You really wanna do that?" Joan asked skeptically, approaching him at the bar.

"Yeah. Why don't you do a shot with me?"

"Oh, gross, no."

He turned to the bartender again, "Give her a shot of Bailey's."

"Adam—" He was strangely outgoing. Uncannily so. Something she wasn't used to from him. Was it the effects from the two pints of stout he'd had earlier?

He looked at her pleadingly. "One shot. Come on, humor me, Jane. I buried my dad today."

She shrugged. Boy did have a point. It was what wakes were for, wasn't it?

The bartender placed their glasses in front of them. Adam lifted his. "You have to shoot it or it's not medicinal," he instructed her.

She lifted her eyebrows and raised her own glass to sniff at the milky liquid inside. She never drank anything stronger than wine, so she was very unsure about taking shots. To her surprise, the Bailey's smelled nice, sweet and barely alcoholic.

"To my dad," Adam said, "and his questionable taste in music." He laughed again, despite a tear that was forming in his eye.

Together, he and Joan downed the shots. She was glad that this Bailey's stuff tasted delicious and the burn going down wasn't bad at all.

"Want another one?" he asked as he watched her enjoy it.

"No. I'm driving you home, remember?"

He nodded, turned to the bartender and pointed to his own glass. The bartender took it away and replaced it with another shot.

"What are you doing?" she asked gently.

"I guess I'm trying to anesthetize myself."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"How would you know? Who did you ever lose?"

That stung. It was true, she did still have all of her family intact. Even the grandparents. There was Judith. That was awful enough. But losing someone you'd only known for a few months didn't come close to what Adam had been through. Maybe she didn't really understand the depth of his sorrow. But she could always feel his pain radiating off of him. And right now, it was searing. She knew she had no right to tell him how to behave. But she was also sure that drowning his grief in alcohol wasn't going to do him any good.

Before she could figure out what to say to him, he reached for her. "Judith," he whispered. "I'm sorry." He put a hand on her shoulder and looked at her for a long time before he finally said, "I shouldn't have said that."

"No," she shook her head. "You're right. I've been blessed. My mom's still here, my dad's still here. The only person I ever lost that hurt as much as losing them would... was you."

That made both of them freeze for several seconds. The tear that had risen in his eye, fell loose and rolled down his cheek and she felt her own eyes fill up. The hand that rested on her shoulder went to the side of her face now. He held it there and continued to watch her. She pressed it to her cheek with her own hand, felt the warmth and gratitude in his gesture.

"I'm sorry," he repeated as he pulled her into an embrace and stroked her hair as she let go of a couple of sobs. "Thank you for being here with me," he whispered in her ear. "You didn't have to do it." Finally, he pulled back to look in her eyes.

"I wanted to," she said, wiping her tears away and trying to smile.

"I don't think I could get through it without you."

"That's the one thing you don't have to worry about."

He wanted to kiss her. He wasn't sure he should. Hadn't she been telling people all day that they were just really good friends? Wasn't that the same thing she was saying now? That she was always going to be his friend?

"Adam!" someone shouted from across the room. He looked away from Joan to find his cousin, Jamie waving him over to where he was standing with a handful of other relatives. Adam waved back. "I better go talk to them," he told Joan. He reached for that second shot of whiskey on the bar. "See you in a few."

He tossed back the shot to make sure it was medicinal and headed through the gaggle toward what was left of his family. He got a few handshakes and pats on the back and two hugs before he joined Jamie, Louisa, Maggie and the others. He found them looking at the big, old brown leather photo album that his mother had so lovingly kept. He decided to rescue it from the attic and maintain it not long after Joan made it possible for him to hear Elizabeth's last words to him. And now the album was a balm for the pain that his family was sharing. She would've liked that.

"Adam, sweetie," his Aunt Louisa said, "I've never seen some of these pictures of your dad." She pointed one out. "I'd love a copy of this one."

"Sure," he smiled. "I'll make you one."

"He was so young..." she sighed.

Adam took her hand. "Just let me know which pictures you want and I'll send you copies as soon as I can."

"Thanks, sweetheart." She hugged him, handing the album off to Jamie. Then, she whispered in his ear, "We're going to have to get going soon. Is there anything you need? Money? Anything?"

"Nah," he said, "I'll be fine. He always kept up the life insurance. There'll be enough left over to take care of... things."

She let him go and brushed his hair off his forehead. "What about _you_? Will you be taken care of?"

He couldn't help looking over at Joan. "I think so."

She followed his gaze to where Joan was standing with her parents. "She's pretty," Aunt Louisa said, smiling at the way he was watching her.

"She's... way more than that."

* * *


	3. Intoxicated

_**Chapter 3**_  
**Intoxicated**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

**Author's Note:**  
_Oh wow, what a nice little surprise. You write this one story, it's more like a private thing for you because you think it's way too dark and depressing to post it publicly. Then you send it to your two closest Adam/Joan shipper-y friends, and one of them actually writes a second chapter without being asked. Amazing._

_Okay, so of course I had to take the bait and continue this now, seeing how Deb did such a wonderful job at expanding this particular Joaniverse into more than it was destined to be. Because, you see, it wasn't originally meant to be more than one chapter. It's turning into much more now. So here's the next part, and you can already rejoice: it won't be the last._

**Synopsis: **_  
Joan takes care of Adam after his father's wake and remembers how things used to be..._

**Rating: **_PG-13_

**Disclaimer:**_  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool.  
_

* * *

"Come on, I wanna show you somethin'." Adam smiled a smile that looked too goofy for his usually subdued reticence. Joan knew he had had a few whiskeys too many, but could she blame him?

She sighed as Adam went around back to the shed after she had just driven him home from the Irish Pub where they had held his father's wake. Wearily, she followed him, watching him fumble with the keys, not quite managing to put the key in the lock.

"Here, let me help you," she offered, but, much too loud for the late hour and quietness of the night, he said, "Nah, I've got it."

It took him a few more awkward seconds to indeed fit the key into the hole before he could open the shed door. He almost lost his balance as he tripped over something that stood on the floor to the side while he was trying to find the light switch. "Oops," he laughed.

He finally found the switch and the sudden, too bright light from the bare light bulb above assaulted her tired eyes. She had to blink a few times before she adjusted to the sudden change in brightness. Not quite sure what he was after, she watched him walk over to the back of the shed, rummaging around in the corner.

"Dammit, where is it?" he muttered.

She shifted her weight as she looked on. It was late. They were both exhausted. "Adam, do we have to do this now? It's 2:30, can't this wait until tomorrow?"

But he didn't reply, instead he produced a portfolio binder, which he placed on the table and opened. Different drawings and paintings were stacked above each other. He leafed through them. When he found the one he was after, he withdrew it from the pile and studied it for a moment before he placed it on top so that Joan could see it as well.

"It's great," she said. "Great... colors."

His fingertips carefully touched the painting's surface to feel the cragginess of it. "Dad really liked this one. Just the other day he said to me, 'Adam, do you remember that painting, the watercolor with the blue and yellow blotches? I loved that one, I think we should put it up.'"

He looked at her and she couldn't quite read if he was trying to suppress any hint of emotion or if the effect of the too strong alcoholic drinks he had ingested not too long ago were taking care of that. "I wanna hang it in the living room. You know, above the sideboard? Now, I just gotta find a frame to go with it."

Joan stepped closer and wearily but firmly told him, "Adam, it's the middle of the night. Come on, let's get you to bed. We'll go to the art store tomorrow and buy a matching frame."

He looked at her, his face scrunched into a confused expression, as if he couldn't quite process what Joan was saying.

She walked over to him and placed her hands on his upper arms. Softly, she urged him again, "Come on, let's go to the house, okay?"

His eyes met hers and after a moment, he replied, "Okay."

Kids were easier to get into bed than a drunken Adam. Joan had to tell him to undress, had to help him out of his shoes. When he was comfortable, he flopped onto the bed, lying on his back, his head turned so that his gaze could follow her every movement. She helped him untangle the duvet and tucked him in.

Almost automatically, she picked up the clothes he had stripped out of and carelessly dropped on the floor and folded them. As she put them on the armchair in the corner, she couldn't help but quickly take in this room and how much it had changed since she had last set foot in here—now years ago. It wasn't the chaotic, youthful room of a teenager anymore, it now looked like the tastefully decorated room of a young man. More mature, more sophisticated. Joan liked it.

She turned back around and walked over to linger by the bed for a moment. Adam's eyes never left her. His speech was a little slurred, both from sleep deprivation and intoxication. "Jane, you're so beautiful. You're like an angel. You're everything I ever wanted."

She took a step back. He didn't mean that. Not anymore. "Adam, you're drunk."

He smiled at her. "Yeah, and tomorrow I'll be sober again but you'll still be beautiful."

"You'll also have a head that'll feel twice its size."

His attentive gaze on her never wavered, even though his eyelids were drooping now. "No, seriously. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

She sighed. "We're not going there. Not when you're not thinking clearly." Her voice grew softer. He had just been through this huge ordeal, she had no business being impatient with him, drunk or not. "Get some sleep. I'll come by tomorrow after work, okay?"

He turned into a fetal position on his side, wrapping himself in the duvet she had draped over him. "Okay," he sleepily acknowledged.

Joan switched off the light before she quietly left the room and went into the kitchen. She rummaged around in her purse for the bottle of aspirin she kept for those work stress headaches she sometimes battled. When she found it, she took two of them out and placed them on the table next to an empty glass she had gotten from one of the cupboards. Ripping a note from the notepad on the counter, she quickly scribbled down a message for Adam:

_Hey sleepyhead,  
Just a precautionary measure. Call  
me if you need anything or want to  
talk. Work is 555-2131, or my cell  
is 555-3722. _

_Jane  
xxx_

She laid the painkillers on top of the note and she wrote _(aspirin)_ in brackets, so that he knew what he was being offered. He would need them. She hated thinking of him having to drag himself through the next day with his head close to exploding. His day would be hard enough as it was.

Her heart went out to him once more; she could feel the all too familiar clenching knot forming in her stomach when she thought about how she would be busying herself with work the next day. But Adam would have to face all of the depressing emptiness of the house and the overwhelmingly sad memories on his own.

She made a mental note to give him a call on her lunch break, maybe even before that. She hoped he wouldn't have too bad a hang-over and that he would be able to catch some much needed sleep as she quietly left the house to return to her own apartment.

* * *

"Hello?" a tired voice greeted Joan at the other end of the phone line.

"Hey, it's me," she said in a soft voice.

"Jane, hey," Adam said in acknowledgement of the caller, his voice strained and sounding sluggish.

"Hangover that bad?" she carefully asked. As if she couldn't tell...

"Worse," he moaned.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," she said jokingly.

"Yeah, well, it'll teach me not to try that again any time soon. Thanks for the aspirin, those came in handy."

"So," her voice was sympathetic as she asked the question had prompted her to call in the first place. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm doing okay," he replied, his answer anything but convincing.

"I'll come by after work, maybe we can grab a bite to eat," she suggested.

"Uh... I'm not so sure about that."

"Oh," she had to smile knowingly to herself. "Tender stomach, huh?"

"Yeah," he just replied.

"Do you want me to come by anyway?" She wasn't sure if he maybe wanted some time to himself. The last few days he had almost completely spent in the company of someone or other. Which wouldn't be such a bad thing, the distraction might have done him good.

"Sure," he said.

"Okay. I get off at five. I can be there, say, around half past five? That all right with you?"

"Yeah, sounds good," he agreed.

"Hang in there," she told him, making her voice as compassionate as was possible over the phone.

"I'll try," came his meek reply.

"Okay." That was all she could ask for.

They quickly said their goodbyes before they hung up.

Adam pushed the 'disconnect' button of his phone and let the hand with the phone still in it sink to the tabletop of the kitchen table.

The skull-splitting headache he had woken up with had reduced itself to a dull throbbing, thanks to the aspirin he had taken earlier. He looked out the window; the weather outside perfectly mirrored his mood. A steady drizzle had set in a while ago and it didn't look as if it was about to stop raining any time soon. There was no happiness or hope in the bleak gray clouds that hung over Arcadia like a fire blanket that would quell any flicker of light or warmth. Nothing could describe better what he had felt like before Joan called.

But, at just having heard her voice—that soft but still vibrant voice, a portion of gratitude welled up through the desolation. Had he told her how thankful he was for her support, for her resolute denial to leave his side through the whole nightmarish affair if she could help it? He should make it a point to tell her, he owed her that much.

He could vaguely remember that Joan had taken him home last night, but anything beyond that was a blur. He hadn't done or said anything inappropriate, had he? He didn't think so, if only for the fact that she had just sounded normal on the phone, her concerned, caring self. He couldn't help but wonder—and he didn't like unpleasant surprises.

He looked up, his gaze grazing the pin board that had all sorts of bills and unattended mail pinned to it. A sigh escaped his lips. There was so much to do, to take care of. Where would he start?

* * *

Walking past the strange-looking sculptures and wind chimes in the front garden, Joan didn't even notice them anymore. They had just always been there and she had started taking them for granted. Not that she had been here, at the Rove's house, that often recently. _Priorities tend to change as life moves on, _she mused. That certainly applied to her relationship with Adam. With both her and Adam now working full-time jobs, they did keep in touch, but they weren't a big part of each other's lives anymore.

When she rang the doorbell, she was surprised that it was not Adam but Grace opening the door for her. She didn't need to ask what Grace was doing here. She and Adam had always been friends. Joan only got to know him in high school; Grace knew him since kindergarten. Some bonds were never severed. Grace would sure be concerned about him, having seen up-front what his mother's suicide had done to him.

"Girardi," Grace greeted Joan in her usual way to address her friends by their last names. It was what she did, it was just Grace.

"Hey Grace," Joan greeted back as she stepped inside when Grace took a step back. "I called Adam earlier, telling him I'd come by after work."

"Yeah, he mentioned something," Grace told her.

Joan took off her coat, wet from the rain outside, and hung it on the coat rack in the hall, following Grace into the kitchen. She asked her friend, "How's he holding up?"

"He's putting on a good show." Her voice was subdued, more so than Joan was used to from her. "He passed out on the couch a while ago. Pretty bad hangover, I guess, after all those shots he downed last night."

"Yeah," Joan said with a sigh. "When did you get here?"

"Oh, I don't know. An hour ago? I've been doing a little bit of this and that since then." She pointed at the stack of clean dishes that were now standing in the drying rack next to the sink.

Joan stood near the counter. "So, what can I do?"

"Take care of dinner?" Grace suggested. "You know how well I cook."

"Oh yeah," Joan said knowingly, remembering much too vividly a roast beef gone wrong. Grace had taken to ordering take-out ever since then when they were to meet for anything that involved food as accompaniment. "I think we need to go for something that's suitable for tender stomachs," remembering Adam's comment from their previous phone conversation. "Chicken soup?"

Grace shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

"Then it's settled," Joan acknowledged and started checking the refrigerator and cupboards. She hoped she could throw something together with what was available, otherwise she'd have to improvise. And that, she had always been good at.

Three quarters of an hour later, a make-shift chicken soup was simmering on the stove, the smell pleasantly filling the room. Grace and Joan were sitting at the kitchen table, each cradling a mug with coffee, engrossed in conversation.

"Something smells good," came Adam's voice from the doorway and both looked up to see him approaching.

"Hey, someone's awake," Grace dryly commented as he walked over to the stove. He lifted the lid of the pot to take a look inside.

Before he could ask, Joan explained. "Chicken soup. Suitable for hangovers and upset stomachs."

The three of them had dinner together. The soup was delicious, they ended up with three empty soup bowls in front of them. Joan could indeed improvise.

During dinner, Grace and Joan exchanged meaningless banter, sharing stories from work and home. It had been as much a ruse to keep Adam's mind off the heavy stuff for a while as it had been to entertain themselves. They both were of the impression that it had worked on him, too.

Grace now got up from the table, placing her bowl and coffee mug in the sink. "Guys, as much as I hate to say it, I gotta go. There's a ton of laundry with my name on it and Caesar's waiting to be fed and walked." Grace was alluding to her Irish Setter that she had more or less voluntarily come to own.

"Sure. Knock yourself out over your laundry, sounds like fun," Adam said with an ironic smile. He still couldn't really picture Grace as a homemaker.

She shot him a punishing look. "Oh, you have no idea." Then her expression softened somewhat. "Look, if there's anything I can help with, you have my number, right?"

He gave her a grateful look. "Yeah, I do." Grace had never been one for the big words or elaborate speeches of gratitude. She'd just tell him to cut it if he were to start with anything like it. But that didn't mean he couldn't count on her, because he knew that he could.

Grace said goodbye to Joan, and as Adam saw Grace to the door, Joan started washing the dirty dishes and other utensils that she had used earlier in preparation of the chicken soup.

When Adam came back into the kitchen, he saw Joan standing by the sink. Wordlessly, he took a towel and started drying the items Joan had just cleaned.

After a few moments of silence, she asked him, "So, how's the headache?"

"It's fine. Almost gone after that nap."

He stopped drying the glass he was holding and put it on the counter. Turning to her, he asked unsurely, "Jane, last night, I... I didn't do anything inappropriate, did I?"

She also stopped her dishwashing activities, giving him somewhat of an amused smirk. "You don't remember? All the kinky games and the mind-blowing sex?"

His eyes widened for a second. She couldn't be serious. "You're kidding, right?"

She laughed a quick laugh. "Yeah, I'm kidding. Don't worry, nothing happened. You were... a bit ebullient with the compliments, though."

He rubbed one eyebrow—a gesture she had observed often when he was nervous or insecure.

"What did I say?

"Oh, let me see. You said I was an angel and that I was the most beautiful woman you've ever known. There was more along those lines."

He looked her in the eyes for a second, then looked down. "It's not like that's not true," he simply stated in his gentle voice.

"Adam..." she said wearily.

But before she could say anything else, he interrupted, "I know. We shouldn't be going there." He met her gaze again. "I want to thank you, though."

"For what?" she asked.

"For everything. For being there, for helping out."

"Adam, that's... that's what friends are for, right? You don't have to thank me."

He studied the foam on her hands from the dishwashing liquid, suddenly remembering the faint nacre-like surface of her clear nail polish he had secretly studied during dinner. "Yes, I do. I mean, I wanted to."

"No, really," she verbally shrugged him off, her voice softer now. "It's the least I could do."

She looked at him and their eyes met. He wanted to drown in them. He wanted to lean in and kiss her, wanted to feel her hands damp with water and foam on his skin, wanted to taste her strawberry flavored lip-gloss on his lips.

_Stop it!_ he mentally chided himself. _Stop it before you do something you'll later regret. _He tore his gaze away from her face, but not before he saw that flicker in her eyes, the one that told him she wanted it too.

He picked up another glass and started drying it in silent deliberation, if only to keep his hands from touching her. The crackle of ... something explosive in the air slowly died down. Every breath he took felt like he was breathing through a gas mask, loud and labored. He desperately tried to come up with a topic, any topic, to defuse the electricity between them.

Joan beat him to it. "So, are you gonna keep the house?"

"The house," Adam repeated. "Yeah. I mean, I'd like to. I was raised in this house. It's just ... I started going through all the financial stuff and..." His hand combed through his hair wearily, drawing in a long breath before releasing it through his nose. "I didn't really realize how complicated this all is. Dad had two mortgages. When he started getting sick, he borrowed against the house. He still owes quite a lot. I mean, I have the life insurance, but even with that, it's gonna be tough. Quite frankly, I don't know if I can afford it."

Her heart ached for all the additional financial problems that were now being dumped on him on top of everything else. She knew her own parents started to struggle for a while when she was in high school, with having to refit the house in Arcadia to accommodate Kevin's needs while still saving money for their children's academic careers and tuitions.

But her parents had always tried to shield their children from all of the financial burdens. And she never had the feeling that she was being deprived of anything because they couldn't afford it. She knew that for Adam it had never quite been like that. Even as a teenager, he had taken a job to afford the pain medication his father needed for his back condition.

In an honestly sympathetic voice, she said, "You know, if you need any help with the money, I can—"

He interrupted her. Not forcefully, but gently. "No. No, that's okay. I'll manage. I'm gonna check out options. It'll work out somehow."

Joan only nodded. He had his pride, she knew that. She hoped he knew that it wasn't pitying charity she was offering. She let the subject go for now.

After rinsing the last soup bowl, she handed it to him before she pulled the plug from the sink. Drying her hands on a towel that hung on the wall, she watched him put away the last few cleaned items. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked him.

He closed the overhead cupboard door. "No, you've helped more than enough already." Without sounding reproachful, he told her, "Go home, Jane. You must be exhausted."

It was true, she was. Not much more than four hours of sleep the previous night and a full stressful day at work had seen to that. She hadn't even fully realized how tired she actually was until now. But she was more worried about Adam than herself. "Will you be all right?"

He looked at her with an intensity that she had not expected. "I'll be fine."

"Okay," she relented.

He accompanied her to the door. She drew him into a hug before she said goodbye. And she couldn't help but feel at home in his arms, even for those few seconds.

"Promise me you'll call when you need anything," she said to him as they separated from their embrace.

"I promise."

As she left, walking through the front garden again, she noticed from the corners of her eyes how the wet metal sculptures glittered with reflections from the street lights in the rain that was still steadily beating down in soft drops. And she wondered why the words _I love you_ suddenly popped into her head, seemingly out of nowhere. How long had it been since she had said that to anyone? And hadn't she given up on the words _love _and _Adam_ belonging in the same sentence a long time ago? Hadn't they agreed to be just friends?

She pushed the thought aside and sighed. What she needed more than anything was passing out on the couch with a hot mug of tea and the latest episode of her favorite TV show before falling into bed like a rock.

* * *


	4. These Things

**_Chapter 4_  
These Things**

_by Sisterdebmac_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
This isn't really a songfic, but the title and theme were inspired by the Fuel song. I've been listening to them a lot lately. I think Adam would like Fuel. Their entire catalog is tragically romantic. Thanks to TeeJay for continuing to believe in this inadvertent series of vignettes. It has been fascinating._

_First **DELETED SCENE ALERT**! This chapter has a deleted scene that follows what you can read here. As we explained earlier, our deleted scenes are so very R-rated (meaning pure unadulterated sexual content), so we can't post them here in the PG section. Please check out "Butterflies: the unadulterated version" in the M-rated section, that's the version of this story that has the deleted scenes included. We will give you a deleted scenes alert every time there are any, but the full, unadulterated version will be posted in the M-rated section as well, so you can stick to that one if you like._

_**Disclaimer:**  
They're not mine...blah blah blah. Barbara Hall...blah blah blah. CBS...blah blah blah._

_**Genre:** Romance (with only a teensy bit of angst)_

_**Rating:** PG with minor, borderline R for extreme squeeage towards the end_

* * *

_"These Things"  
by Fuel_

I_ have this smile to hide me  
And I have this cross to bear  
I have your picture that still haunts me like your memory  
These things have I  
I have these words to lie to me  
These stupid songs to share  
I have these countless hours to fill the void you left me  
These things have I  
For all those things I've done  
Let you down I apologize  
But sorry's hard somehow  
Seems so strange it'd be so easy now  
But I've got this faith to blind me  
And I've got these dreams we shared  
And I have the fear that dreams are all I'll have that's  
left to me  
These things all these things  
These things have I  
These things all these things  
There things have I_

* * *

The call was panicked. She wasn't sure what to think when she first heard the extreme anxiety in his voice. "I can't do this, Jane," he said and it scared her.

Do what? Live without his dad? Deal with the aftermath? What? "Adam, what's wrong?" she gasped.

"I'm up to my ass in alligators over here. I started something and I can't figure out how to get through it."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just... are you busy? Can you come help me?"

She looked at her watch. Eleven-thirty am. She wanted to spend her Saturday catching up on neglected errands and having a run on the brand new jogging and biking trail the city of Arcadia had just installed. But these things seemed meaningless when Adam obviously needed her. "Yeah, where are you?"

"At the house."

Already dressed for a casual summer afternoon, in shorts and a t-shirt, she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her tote. "I can be there in fifteen minutes. Do you need me to bring anything?"

"Lots of garbage bags."

When she got to Adam's house and knocked on the door, she heard only a muffled, "Come on in, Jane!" from somewhere deep inside and she got worried all over again. She half-expected to find him bloody on the floor. But when she opened the door, she found that her entry was blocked by... just about everything that belonged in the house. The place was tossed like it had been in a tornado.

"Adam?" Joan called surveying the scene.

He popped up from behind a chair piled with ratty winter coats and other junk from the living room closet. He had a stack of documents in his arms that began to slip when he stood. "Hey," he said brightly, smiling and happy to see her. As half the stack of papers he held dropped out from the middle and scattered, his cheer turned to plain old relief.

"What is going on in here?" she asked incredulously as she began to try to pick her way through the clutter into the house.

He let the rest of his load go and it dropped carelessly to the floor. "I know," he said, scratching his head. "I just wanted to do a little cleaning. You know, get rid of some stuff, but it kinda got outta hand."

"I can see that. How long have you been at this?"

"I started last night."

She couldn't see any rhyme or reason to any of it. "Wow, it's really... asymmetrical."

"Yeah, I don't do much cleaning. Or purging or whatever you wanna call it. Guess I'm not very good at it."

"Did you have some kind of plan? What are you trying to do?" Joan looked at him, curiously, questioningly.

"Just clear out some stuff. It didn't seem like it would be a big a deal at first. I just wanted to pick up around the living room. I was going to put some things in the closet for later, but when I opened it, man, it was already jammed full of all kinds of stuff. I hadn't looked in there in ages. I guess Dad would just stick things in there when he didn't know what else to do with them. I started to clean it out and it just... kept piling up on me. I went to get some garbage bags from the kitchen and we only had, like, two."

"So you sent up the Bat Signal?" Joan smirked at him.

"Yeah." He looked embarrassed when he admitted that. "I know it's kinda lame of me to ask you to help me clean my own house, but... there you go." He looked at her with that sweet, vulnerable look in his eyes, the one that used to make her heart melt. And still did.

She stepped over the last pile of stuff to stand by him. She touched his arm. "It's OK. I told you to call me if you needed anything. This counts."

He smiled down at her hand on his bare arm. He placed his hand over hers. His voice was soft as he told her, "Thanks. Again. Maybe if you feel like it tonight, we could go out. I'll take you someplace nice for dinner."

"I'd like that. But let's see if we can make some progress in here first." She reluctantly moved away from him and took a look around. She almost immediately noticed the painting Adam had dragged her out to the shed for after the wake. He had framed it and it was leaning against a wall, waiting to be hung. "Let's make sure we get that picture up. Or are you planning to rearrange all the furniture?" she asked.

He shook his head, glad that she remembered the painting. Hell, he was glad that _he _remembered at least that much from the whiskey-induced haze he was in that night. It started with seeing the painting in his mind's eye. It was always visual stuff that triggered memory for him. It took him about six hours of wondering why he was thinking of that painting to recall that he took Joan out there with him to retrieve it so he could hang it up for his dad. He was only sorry that it was too late for Carl to enjoy it.

She continued to assess the situation and consider how best to tackle the task at hand. "You already tried to move the furniture around, didn't you?"

"I started to, but there was stuff everywhere and I couldn't make up my mind where I wanted to put anything anyway." He turned and took his own long look around. Then he laughed. "Wow, I created chaos." He looked back at Joan, an odd mixture of glee and sadness in his eyes. "Didn't I?"

"Yeah, it's like a huge version of one of those sculptures you used to do," she said gently.

"You're a saint to put up with me, Jane," he whispered, his voice almost breaking.

He looked so sad, so small and helpless. It was all she could do to keep from crumbling into tears seeing him like that. "Hey, I used to think that about you all the time, back when we first started dating. I was nuts. And you were always so... sweet about it all."

He moved into her arms and she just held him. She ran a hand over his soft, wavy hair and squeezed him to her. He felt suddenly weak. And suddenly strong. He turned his face into her neck and drinking in the scent of her, he kissed her there.

The heat of his breath as it brushed across her throat and the soft, wet warmth of his lips threatened to make her thighs go up in flames. Could it really be that easy?

All she wanted was turn those last two inches, find his lips and devour them. To open herself to him finally. To drink him in. Instead, she kissed his temple tenderly and drew his face back to look in his eyes. "You keep that up and we're not going to get anything done."

"I like chaos. I can live in chaos," he teased as he released her from the embrace.

"No you don't and no you can't. Come on, let's get this place squared away. We can get back to our... conversation over dinner," she said, teasing him right back.

"Deal."

"So, we should probably start by breaking this room up into sections. Over by the door for stuff you want to throw out. Over here for things you might be able to donate. And back there in the dining room for things you want to keep---"

"Keep?" he interrupted.

"Yeah, anything you want to hang onto, we'll leave back there until you figure out where you're going to put it."

"I don't think I'm keeping much of anything from in here, Jane," he said matter-of-factly. There was no regret in his voice.

"Nothing?"

He shook his head somberly. "He sat in this room and watched his life pass him by. When he couldn't leave the house for months after mom died. When he hurt himself and couldn't work for two years. I'm sure he got totally sick of looking at this room. There's nothing I want to remember about it. These things, they're just things. Without him, they have no meaning. We might find a couple of things I want to keep. But most of it has to go." With a finality that Joan couldn't disagree with, he added, "If I'm gonna stay sane here, it's gotta go."

Yep, he was visually-oriented all right. When he looked at his dad's beat-up recliner, he saw the old man vegged out in front of the tube with a bag of chips in one hand and the remote in the other. It was the first thing he moved. He moved it all the way across the room and turned it away from view. "That thing," he pointed to it now, drawing Joan's attention, "let's donate that. Call somebody today. You know anybody?"

"I coordinate charities, Adam," she reminded him.

"Right," he nodded and he lifted a finger to point at Joan. "So there was a _real_ reason I called you, not just a hysterical one. Cool."

She laughed. "I'll call AMVETS. They might be able to pick it up today if they have a truck in the area. So let's start the donation section over there with the chair."

"OK," he said, finally relaxing. She had a plan. Or she would concoct one from thin air. That made him feel immeasurably better. "I guess all the coats could go. He used to get a new winter coat every year, but he only ever seemed to wear one of them, the black one... Maybe I'll keep that one."

Joan smiled as she pulled the black one out of the pile and put it aside for Adam. He watched her and nodded to indicate that she'd found the right one. Then she began sorting the through the rest of the coats, piling them on the recliner. "Oh yeah, and for the stuff you just wanna toss, like all those old newspapers and everything, I know this great haul-away company that actually stops at a recycling center and a salvage yard before they go to the dump."

"Sounds great." Adam began to pile up the newspapers and magazines by the door in the to-be-trashed pile.

It surprised her that he talked a lot while they sorted his father's things. He told her stories, things he'd never told her before --- some sad things, some funny things, some weird things. It made her feel closer to him than she had since they were together in high school, when she often tried to take on the weight of all his burdens just to give him a moment's peace. And here she was, doing it again. And it felt so warmly, enticingly familiar.

Six hours and about thirty-seven different conversations later, the doorbell rang and Giorgio's Pizza delivered. Adam paid the man and walked back into the now clean, reorganized living room where Joan was finishing up setting the coffee table with plates, napkins, wine glasses and shakers for the salt and parmesan cheese, seeing how the dining table was stacked with papers and other items for Adam to still sort through.

"Oh my God, that smells incredible. I am so hungry," she said, taking a in great whiff of the pizza-scented air as Adam brought it to the table. The room now contained only the sofa and a couple of tables. The painting was hanging on the wall where Adam wanted it. Joan returned from the kitchen with a really decent bottle of red wine she found in a small rack over one of the cabinets. When she put it on the table, she noticed that Adam looked at it rather sheepishly.

"You don't have to have any," she told him. "But it's really good with pizza."

"I'll have a small glass."

He set the pizza box down and opened it. The steamy aroma suddenly filled the air. They sat on the floor on the same side of the table. Joan poured them each a generous glass of wine. He looked at the glass as if he was about to say it was too much, but a glint in Joan's eye --- maybe it was mischief --- changed his mind. Wow. She sat down and pulled a slice of the pizza onto her plate, picking at the stringy cheese to separate it from the rest of the pie. He did the same, watching her hungrily wolf the first bite of her slice.

"So, so good," she muttered through a mouthful.

He gulped. Damn, she was gorgeous. He wanted to tell her that, it was right there, at the tip of his tongue. But instead, he said, "I'm sorry we didn't get to go out tonight."

"Don't be silly. This is great."

He nodded in agreement. It was pretty great. It was just the two of them. They were tired but satisfied with their progress in the house. And they were very relaxed now that there was food and wine and no place to go. They ate quietly for a few minutes, both of them feeding a well-earned appetite. When they began to feel sated and slowed down, he found himself smiling at her, beaming at her.

"You really saved my bacon today," he told her.

The way he was looking at her took her breath away. "I... I'm glad I could do something to help a little."

"A little? Jane, look around you. Look at everything you did." He gestured around the room. "This, I can live with."

She smiled. "Good."

"How do you always do that?" he asked.

"What?"

"Cool things out. Make them... so much better." His gaze went from surveying the room to her face and landed on her amazing eyes, now shining with a curious happiness.

"I do?" she asked, meeting his gaze.

"Sure seems like it to me."

"You did most of the work, I just gave you some direction." She offered to pour another glass of wine for him after refilling her own.

He shook his head no. "I'd rather be sober."

"You think I'm trying to get you drunk?"

"No, I just... for the first time in a long time, I want to be present. In the moment, you know?"

"You do?"

"Yeah... you're here." He reached out for her hand where it rested on her thigh. He lifted her fingers with his own and wove them together.

"That sweet boy I used to know..." she sighed dramatically, "He's now such a sweet man." She pulled him up as she rose to her knees before him. She wrapped his arm around her waist and her hands went to his face.

Was it always coming to this? She searched his eyes for an answer. Why had his instinct told him that he needed her to sleep with him --- just sleep --- the night his father died? Why had she so happily agreed? Not just dutifully. She was completely content sharing her bed with him, holding him in her arms while he slept. Had some part of her always known that someday she would be free to love Adam the way she wanted to? Could it possibly be that time right now?

One sure way to find out.

She leaned in and kissed him. Deeply. Passionately. Unabashedly. It felt magnificent.

He devoured her kiss. And pulled her tight to him. He might've passed out if the electricity between them hadn't kept every inch of him firing away.

Her hands went into his hair and that was it. He knew it was real. She knew it was real. They plundered and teased each other's lips and mouths and they both knew there was no turning back. He shivered a little and it touched her in a way she had almost forgotten she could be touched by him. And she was being touched. She felt his right hand in the very lowest part of her back and she knew that he was aching, just as she was, for lower.

She let go of his hair, took hold of his belt loops and pulled him into her. "You can touch me," she breathed into his ear.

Instantly, he obeyed. He slid down a bit, one hand caressing her butt and one slipping in the other way to search her out through the soft, thin fabric of her cotton shorts. He bowed his head to kiss her left nipple through her t-shirt and sports bra.

Could this really be happening? His mind reeled. This was _Jane_. And she was finally going to be his. He was smack in the middle of a moment he had given up hoping for.

She pushed him down onto his back on the floor. He reached up and cupped her breasts very gently, reverently. She could feel him getting hard through his cargo shorts. And she could feel herself getting wet. She bucked against him with the sensation and ripped off her own shirt. He bit his lip and fought to control himself as he reached up again for those gorgeous breasts. She let him rub her nipples through the cottony sports bra with his thumbs and squeeze her till she feared she would explode, before she popped the clasp and let it fall away. As he lay there gasping at her beauty, she pulled his shirt up and over his head. Then she lay down on him and enjoyed the feeling of his skin against hers.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him. She reached down and unbuttoned his shorts. He slipped her shorts down and off. She reached inside his boxers and pushed them and the cargo shorts down and off. She immediately felt him, naked and ready against her thigh.

He felt her and he sighed and he knew she was ready too. "Oh, God, Jane," he sputtered.

"Adam. Condom. Now. Please," she rasped.

He couldn't believe it. He groaned and looked at her as he sobered briefly. "Upstairs."

She forcibly brought herself under control and smiled at him. "OK, then, let's go upstairs."

_...continues in Chapter 4a These Things (Deleted Scene) in the Mature section (Butterflies: the unadulterated version)._

* * *


	5. Grave Admissions

_**Chapter 5**_  
**Grave Admissions**

_by TeeJay and Sisterdebmac_

* * *

_**TeeJay's Author's Note:**  
Here's the next one. I started writing it, but then I got stuck and Deb helped me out along the way, ending up writing a good portion of it. That's why it's from the both of us._

_**DELETED SCENES ALERT**! This chapter has two deleted scenes that follow what you can read here. Please check out "Butterflies: the unadulterated version" in the M-rated section for those two scenes if you're interested in that kind of thing._

_Now on with the PG-rated part of the story._

* * *

Not a single breeze was tangible in the air on this sunny day, there was no wisp of wind or even a rustle of leaves in the trees around the cemetery. The world was keeping quiet and Adam felt strangely giddy and saddened at the same time as he walked up to his father's grave.

It was the first time he had been there since the funeral, the first time he thought he could face paying another visit to another loved one who left this earth far too early. His dad was only 58 years old. For a split second, he wished Joan was by his side, intertwining her fingers with his, squeezing them without the need to say anything, breathing strength into him he didn't know he still had.

But he was facing this alone, knew he needed to. Standing in front of the headstone, he studied the engraved letters that spelled out his father's name. It was so unimaginable that just a few feet below, his father's lifeless shell was buried that Adam tried not to think about it. He always tried to imagine that a dead person's soul was still around, that the soul was something that never left. It was a comforting thought, something he could hold onto.

He drew in a shaky breath, trying get a grip on the still much too raw sorrow that was threatening to overpower him. He hadn't come here to grieve, he had come to talk about the rays of light in times so dark you thought you might never wake to see the dawn.

"Hey, Dad," he said in a low voice, unsure how to start. "So... I guess you're finally with Mom now. I mean, that sounds kinda cheesy, but at least it's a nice notion that you might be. I... I came because I wanted to tell you something. I know we never really talked about this stuff, but I want you to know.

"Because I think Jane and I are... back together now. God, I don't know what I would have done without her. She was there after I... the day I heard that you had died. She helped me through all of it. She took care of me. I mean, you must have been worried about that, right? About me not being able to deal with it.

"But I'm okay." He let out a breath. "Or as okay as I can be. In case you're wondering, I... I kept the house. I redecorated everything. _We_ redecorated everything—Jane and I. I... I threw out all the stuff I wanted to get rid of, and then, in that one glorious moment in the middle of all the chaos, it suddenly all came together." He smiled at the memory, smiled at how they had suddenly gone from that innocent embrace to something more. Something that they had tried to ignore for so long and then, over pizza and red wine, when they had thrown all caution to the wind and finally succumbed to their mutual longing, it had all fallen into place.

"It was amazing. We were... it was like I had waited for this for so long, and I... I love her, Dad. I don't think I ever stopped loving her. I mean, you know about the whole mess back in high school, but I think she's the only girl I ever truly loved." His hand went through his hair as he continued, "And I think she still loves me."

Tears suddenly sprang into his eyes and he didn't know if he was laughing or crying. And the sob that escaped his lips might as well have been a laugh. "It's totally insane. I'm walking into walls, Dad. I bet you remember what that's like. You must have been that crazy about Mom, right? You know, if it wasn't such a morbid thing to say, I'd like to tell you that at least some good came out of... losing you."

He wiped at the tears that were now running down his cheeks. "I just really wish you and Mom could be here for all of this."

He bent down to crouch in front of the headstone and touched it with the palm of his hand that was still damp with his tears. "I love you, Dad. I hope you know that. I wish I could have told you that a little more often."

More tears threatened to fall as he stood up. "Say hi to Mom when you see her."

With those words he slowly turned around and walked away, the gravel of the cemetery path crunching underneath the soles of his shoes.

Once he opened the car door and sat down in the driver's seat, he put his hands on the steering wheel, trying to pull himself together. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there when he suddenly felt the cell phone in his pocket vibrate. When he looked at the display, the name he read was 'Joan'. Hesitantly, he opened the phone and held it to his ear.

"Hey, Jane." His voice was gentle, sad—more so than usual.

"Hey," came her exuberant reply. "Where are you?"

"At the cemetery."

Immediately, he could feel her tone soften, her demeanor changing. Her voice was laced with concern when she spoke. "To see your Dad?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, not hiding her worry.

"Yeah, I'm okay." He smiled a little. "In fact, I was just telling my dad how much I love you."

There was silence for a moment, he could sense that she was trying to come up with an appropriate answer. But how could she ever say anything that was not appropriate?

"Oh Adam," came her sympathetic reply. "I wish I could be there with you."

"Hey, hey," he reassured her in a composed voice. "You are."

"Yeah, on the phone."

"And in my heart."

He could feel her smile at the other end too, maybe even blushing a little. The pause before she answered told him that. "You're such a flatterer, you always were. Is it wrong that I wanna kiss you right now?"

His index finger went to his lips, wishing it was not his own skin he was touching but Joan's soft, luscious lips. "No, because I wanna kiss you too."

Joan laughed a short laugh. "Listen to us, we're like teenagers."

"So what if we are?" he cast the comment aside. "When can I see you?"

"Look, I'm already on overtime, and I'm not finished yet. But I think I can be ready in about an hour. Why don't you pick me up and we'll... do something together."

Whatever 'doing something' was going to be—and he had an idea what it might be—he would be fine with it. It meant being close to her. And that alone seemed to give his life new meaning.

"I think I can hang on that long. I can go and stare at your picture in the meantime."

Joan let go of another laugh. "You're pathetic. Come down from that cloud nine you're on. You're scaring me."

"Truth be told, I'm kinda scaring myself. I haven't been myself lately. I just... Ever since that night. I... It's like someone whacked me over the head."

After a short pause, Joan answered in a whisper that had a strangely enigmatic energy to it. "I know. It seems like all I can think—" A sudden rustle filtered through the receiver and Joan hurriedly said, "Sorry, I gotta go. Pick me up in an hour, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be there." He added, "I love you," but he wasn't sure if Joan had already hung up.

He closed his cell phone and let it vanish in his jeans pocket again. An hour. Yeah, he could distract himself for an hour, no problem. He started the car and drove in the direction that would take him through Arcadia's suburbs to his newly refurbished home.

* * *

Outside of her office building, Joan plopped into the passenger seat of Adam's Forester, exclaiming, "Oh man, why do people always slam you with that last urgent thing five minutes before you're supposed to get off? I hate that. I was in a total frenzy these past two hours." She made a disgusted, fed-up sound.

Adam looked over at her from the driver's seat and smiled mischievously. "And hello to you too."

Joan's pent-up expression immediately softened. "I'm sorry." She leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. His hand reached for the back of her head, drawing her closer, deepening the kiss.

When they separated, Joan smiled. "I could get used to this, you know."

"You better." He started the car and continued, "So, I thought we could go to that new place we talked about the other day. You know, that restaurant that has the Pop Art exhibition?"

She didn't look too happy at the suggestion. She sighed. "Well, to be honest, I'm pretty wiped. I feel more like something that doesn't involve a lot of people and a lot of noise."

"Sounds like a movie-on-the-couch night."

"Yeah, that sounds good. If it's all right with you. I mean, we can go to the restaurant if you really want. I'm just being crabby, I'll get over it."

He backed the car out of the parking lot. "No, I could totally do couch and movie. I'm up for that. I guess that leaves... my place our your place?"

"I have frozen meat pie or pizza. What does the Rove's freezer have to offer?" she asked.

He thought for a moment. "Hm. Not sure. I haven't looked in there in ages."

"Okay, then I guess it's my place."

"Deal," he replied and steered the car in the direction of Joan's apartment.

An hour later, both having feasted on meat pie and ice cream—in exactly that order, Adam crouched in front of Joan's DVD shelf. "Okay, so what does Miss Girardi feel like?" He wiggled four different DVDs in his hands, holding them up subsequently as he said, "Comedy, drama, action or horror?"

Joan was already on the couch, her feet propped up, comfortably resting her back against the cushions. She had changed into the boxer shorts and t-shirt she wore for pajamas these days and looked completely at home, comfortable. "Oh, I don't know. I'm too beat and too full to decide. What do you feel like?"

"How about one of the Python movies? They're always classic."

"How did I know you were gonna pick something really old?" she chuckled. "But, yeah, I could do with some good old British humor. How about The Holy Grail?"

"Holy Grail it is," Adam said and held it up triumphantly after looking through the DVDs to find it. Joan helped him find the right remote control and soon they were snuggled up on the couch, watching the Python gang as bizarre knights roaming Britain's countryside.

They snuggled, laughed at the movie, and quoted their favorite parts. Once in a while they melted into a kiss and lost their place. It was great fun and it reminded both of them of when they used to watch their goofy comedies together as teens. She was still amazed at how easy it was to laugh with him. How sometimes he could just completely cut loose and get sucked into some silly movie with her.

"Adam?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled, his voice slightly drowsy. His head rested against Joan's torso, her arm wrapped around his shoulder. The wacky end credits of The Holy Grail were still rolling on the screen, the strings of the score rising in sudden crescendo from the speaker system on either side of Joan's TV set.

She grabbed the remote and muted it. "I love you too," she said just above a whisper.

He shifted his position so that he could look at her. A small smile tugged at his lips. "Where did that come from?"

"You said it on the phone before you hung up earlier."

"You heard that?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"So, how come it took us so long?" he asked her, softly, hesitantly.

"So long for what?" Joan asked.

"To realize that. I mean, I already loved you in high school. I don't think I ever really stopped loving you. Why did this happen only now?"

Joan's fingers played with the hem of his t-shirt sleeve, grazing the skin of his upper arm ever so slightly as she did. It gave him goose bumps. She leaned her head back until it rested on the pillow behind it. "I don't know. Maybe we both tried to fight it, tried to ignore it for as long as we could. I mean, we were both so wrapped up in our lives, in our jobs, our careers. How often did we see each other? Once a month? Twice?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "But that's gonna change now, right?"

"Oh yeah," she laughed and tugged at him to indicate he should come closer. Adam immediately complied and their faces inched forward until they met for a sweet, long, luscious kiss. "I can't get enough of you, so you bet that's gonna change," Joan added between kisses, slightly breathless.

When they broke the kiss, she laid her head on his chest. He stroked her hair as she listened to the elevated beat of his heart. A wave of contentment washed over her and she couldn't stifle a sigh.

"What?" he whispered as he leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

"This just... feels so good."

"Yes, it does," he smiled and squeezed her to him a little.

"Stay the night?" she asked.

Oh, God, yes. He wanted nothing more. He knew that he could take her right there on the spot, but her dreamy eyes and the way she was resting against him made him think maybe she needed something else instead. "You had a long day, sure you're not too tired?"

"I am, a little. But I don't want you to go. I wanna wake up next to you. If I fall asleep on you tonight, I'll make it up to you in the morning."

"How 'bout this? You just stretch out and relax, I'll give you a nice, long massage and then we'll see how you feel. OK?"

"Mmmmm, that sounds great." She started to lie down on the couch, but he stopped her.

"We'd be more comfortable on your bed, don't you think?"

She smiled and dragged herself to her feet, taking his hand. He followed her into the sanctum of her room. Joan had eased the terrible pain of his father's death in this room. He felt safe here. He felt loved.

And now here again in this room with his sweet Jane, it was his turn to comfort her. How did he earn this miracle? Why was it suddenly possible for him to be with the woman he loved just as he'd always wanted to be? Only a few nights before, he'd felt such joy as he made love to her in his bed. Now, his heart raced as he realized what it meant to be with her in her room, in her bed.

Standing at the foot of it, Joan let go of Adam's hand and removed her t-shirt. He watched as she laid it over the arm of a chair and turned her back to him. He couldn't tear himself away from watching her naked back. He still wasn't used to her being so free with her body around him. There was that funny flip inside of him as she stretched out on her belly on the soft down comforter.

He swallowed hard and his voice came out low and shaky. "Do you... have any kind of oil or lotion or anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, something for massage."

"Oh, uhm... not really. But I do have this jasmine lotion that I like. It's over there on the dresser." She rose to her side to point it out and he was briefly mesmerized by the sight of her voluptuous breasts. She smiled at him and lay back down, watching him retrieve the lotion. She loved making him drool.

He brought the lotion to the bed, climbed on and sat astride the backs of her thighs, balancing his weight on his legs. She felt the slightly stiff and coarse fabric of his jeans against her naked thighs. She caught a chill and shivered. He leaned down onto her back and kissed her left earlobe. "Are you cold?"

"No, I'm good."

He rose up again and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. Then he squeezed some lotion into his palm and took the time to warm that up too before he began with long slow motions over her neck and shoulders. She squirmed a little with delight at the touch of his long, skilled fingers. They always seemed so delicate when she studied them, she had never imagined them to be this strong, this vigorously dexterous.

He moved along her shoulder blades and gently but firmly worked the tense muscles there. Joan sighed as she felt the stress of the day flow from her body. The pressure was just right, and he knew what spots to hit too. But it wasn't just these mysterious amateur masseuse skills coming through his fingertips that were making every inch of her tingle. It was the love.

She wanted to turn over and pull him down into her right then, but it was a fleeting notion because he reached her lower back—the place where her sometimes-chiropractor told her she carried all her stress. He began to run his thumbs along the spine in the small of her back with those same delightfully gentle yet firm strokes. It was amazing. After a while, his hands having assessed just the degree of her tension there, he applied firm but not uncomfortable pressure to a certain spot near her lumbar spine. She felt a kind of pop in her lower back, followed by what seemed like a small rush of endorphins. What had he done?

She let out a soft sigh and he felt her relax completely under his hands. "You OK?" he asked gently.

"What... was that?" she whispered because it was all she had the strength to do.

He still rubbed her back, but only very softly now, just enjoying the warmth of her skin. "Oh, my dad's physical therapist taught me that. He'd get these spasms and sometimes that would make them stop." He stopped now and sat back on her thighs. He felt weird suddenly about using something he'd learned to help his father to seduce his girlfriend. He got off of her legs and sat down against the headboard of the bed.

She turned around to face him. "What's wrong?"

He looked around the room. This room again. The soft ground where he'd fallen when he was most in need. Was he using his father's misfortune to get close to her? Had he been doing that from the beginning, from that first night? Why had it taken losing his father to find Jane again?

"Adam?" She looked at him compassionately, but gave him an affectionate thump to his thigh. "Don't go all broody teenager on me now. Tell me what's bothering you." She turned around with considerable effort so that she was lying next to him with her head on a pillow, looking up at him, waiting for him to talk to her.

He looked back at her, seemingly coming out of a haze. "I'm sorry. I'm just... thinking about my dad. How I don't deserve to be here."

"Here, where?"

"In your bed, with you," he drank in the beauty of her bare breasts, "like this... How can I be so happy when I've just lost him?"

She had no answer for that. Could there really be one? She took his hand in one of hers, pulled his lips to hers and kissed him very lovingly, very tenderly. She wanted him to know that whatever he was feeling was OK. That he could cry, rage, grieve, whatever he needed to do in her presence.

"You're here because we both want you to be here, right?"

He nodded slowly, almost unnoticeably, studying her carefully, his eyes shining with a bittersweet expression she couldn't quite identify as either happiness or sadness.

"I can't tell you how to feel, but you're guilty of nothing. Your father would want you to go on living. He'd want you to be happy."

He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her forehead. She draped her arm over his waist and snuggled into him. He felt her sigh heavily against him and he knew that if he could relax, she would too and as tired as she was, she'd be asleep in no time. That was what she needed. He reached over to the bedside table and switched off the lamp as he slid down onto the pillow beside Joan. He lay there for a long time, just holding her, until he felt her finally drift off, not caring whether he was still dressed in his jeans or not.

As he lay there, wishing he could sleep so easily, the pain of his loss, his fear of the future and the blistering intensity of his love for Joan hit him all at once. He fought to hold in a sob as tears slipped from his eyes and rolled into his ears. He ran a hand over his face and drew a long breath to calm himself. She felt him moving in her sleep and a tiny moan of protest escaped her. It was so cute it made him want to laugh, but he kept it to a smile, reaching over to stroke her hair. She sighed and nuzzled against him, and he felt himself calm down.

He continued to softly stroke her hair until he also drifted off to sleep, silently relishing the thought of waking up and seeing her lying next to him first thing in the morning when he would open his eyes...

_...continues in Chapter 5a Undressing Adam (Deleted Scene) in the Mature section (Butterflies: the unadulterated version)._

* * *


	6. Game, Set and Match

_**Chapter 6**_  
**Game, Set And Match**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

**Author's Note:**  
_If you had to pick a sport that Adam was doing, what would it be? Deb and I had some discussion about this, but I was finally able to persuade her. Or let's say the male colleagues in her office were able to persuade her that badminton is _not_ necessarily a girly sport. Thus this next little chapter sprang into existence. And I'm aware that the title is more related to tennis than to badminton. So what? Cut me some slack. _:o)

* * *

God, he looked sexy! Joan self-consciously licked her lips, wishing they could meet Adam's, caress them, softly suck at them right then and there. She sat down on the bottom-most wooden bench of the stands in the community center gym where badminton nets were set up and a couple of matches were in progress.

Joan put her purse down next to her and watched with fascination how Adam got his clock cleaned mercilessly by his opponent. He was a buffer looking guy that she had never seen before, but she remembered Adam mentioning the name Brody. She guessed it was some sort of nickname. What parents in their right mind would name their child Brody?

But her gaze was quickly recaptured by her gorgeous boyfriend, by the way he put all his energy into whipping the racquet over his head to hit the bird thingie with a loud popping sound. It shot over the net with the velocity of a jet aircraft. When it hit the ground on the other side of the court, Brody yelled, "Out!" and Adam leaned forward with his hands on his knees, his back turned towards Joan, panting heavily. "Man, you're killing me!" he let out between breaths.

Joan had to smile. Adam had no idea she was there. He hadn't seen her sneaking in. That was just the way she wanted it, to secretly adore him while he was oblivious. It was so sexy to her, in a twisted sort of way. And a little self-indulgent, she knew. But she didn't care. She just enjoyed the pure blissful feeling it gave her.

She studied the V-shaped sweat stain on the back of his gray t-shirt. Poor guy, he was being chased all over the place, and all she could think about was how badly she wanted to kiss him, to ruffle his hair, to touch him. A chill of giddy anticipation ran down her spine.

She watched him walk over to the net pole and take a swig from his water bottle, shaking Brody's hand and then turning around and—oh God—looking straight into her eyes. She couldn't suppress a smile. He came walking over.

"Jane."

The way he said it, even though it came out kinda strained and breathless, she could burst into tears at the sheer meaning he gave that plain, simple name. He didn't let the railing that separated them stop him, quickly climbing over it. Sweaty and panting though he was, he put his hands on her hips, drew her close and kissed her.

The smile on his face as he pulled back made her heart skip a beat, it was so sweet. "How long have you been watching?"

She smiled back. "A couple of minutes?"

He drew his hand through his damp hair, wiping some of the sweat off his brow as he did. "So you saw me getting my ass whipped by pretty good, by old Brody there, huh?"

"Aw, but you tried so hard," she said with mock pity. "You put up a good fight. For a guy playing such a girly sport," she added with a smirk.

"Girly sport? Jane do you know that the shuttlecock can go more than 200 miles an hour, faster than any ball in any sport?"

She snickered. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said, seeming genuinely offended. "You don't believe me? Wait 'til the shuttlecock hits you in the head. I had a lump there for over a week."

"It's called a shuttlecock? Really?" She laughed now.

He shook his head at her. "Okay, make fun all you want."

She forced herself to sober. "No, I'm sorry. I'll take your word for it."

"So..." he challenged her jokingly, "you think I'm some kind of girly man, do you?" He said the "girly man" bit like Ahnold would. She started to laugh again but he suddenly grabbed her firmly by the waist, lifted her up and laid her over his shoulder, pinning her there with his arm around her thighs. Joan let out a short, surprised squeal as he added, "Back to the cave, then, Jane?" he said, emphasizing the nickname.

"Okay, Tarzan, you made your point!" Joan laughed and drummed her fists lightly on his back, jiggling her feet in the air helplessly. "Let me down, you big ape! I swear, I'll never call you girly man again. Pleeease."

He let her down slowly with a sly smile on his face. "All right. This time." He thumped his chest once with a fist and let out a throaty imitation of a gorilla roar and Joan couldn't help but laugh again.

He stood there watching her for a second and the beast within him calmed. "Come here," he whispered, nuzzling his incredibly soft lips against the soft skin at side of her neck, carefully biting her there.

"Adam, we're in public," Joan chastised, but it was only a reflex. She didn't really mean it. She was enjoying it way too much to really want him to stop. "You keep this up, we're gonna end up... no, you don't wanna know."

He stopped his movements for a second to mumble, "I don't care."

"Yes, you do. You don't wanna embarrass your friend Brody here, do you?" Her hands found the spot at the side of his waist where she knew he was irrefutably ticklish and poked her finger there. He immediately squirmed and wriggled away from her.

She stopped tickling him and leaned in with her mouth close to his ear. "Besides," she whispered, "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Women always pretend they like the smell of sweat on a man's body. Guess what. They really prefer clean and fresh." She pulled her head back and poked him gently in the chest. "So go shower."

He laughed at her. "Okay, okay. I bow to your feminine expertise. Anything to please my woman," he said, still teasing her with something like an Elvis growl. All he was missing was the lip curl.

With those words he climbed back over the railing and collected his gym bag and equipment. Brody, who was just about to head out to the shower, thumped Adam lightly in the ribs. "That's her, huh? Very nice, man."

Adam couldn't hide a smile. "Yeah." He quickly waved Joan over to come closer. "Brody, Joan."

"Hey," Brody smiled. He started to offer his hand up to her, where she still stood behind the railing, but her retreated it quickly. "Sorry, I'm all sweaty and gross."

"That's okay," Joan smiled. "Nice to meet you. Although I guess I should be mad at you for chasing Adam around the court like that."

Brody lifted an amused eyebrow. "Yeah, well, he totally deserved it." He looked at Adam. "You've had better days, man. You were a total wuss today."

Adam scratched his head with an almost embarrassed expression on his face. "Maybe my mind was... elsewhere. Sorry I wasn't much competition."

Brody smiled at Joan knowingly. "I think maybe I know where your mind is at. It's cool." He gave Adam a good-natured slap on the shoulder. "Enjoy." With a chuckle he headed out.

Adam shrugged and looked up at Joan apologetically. "Did you hear that? He called me a wuss. Do I have to throw him over my shoulder too?"

Joan had a mischievous smirk on her face as she said, "Well, as long as you don't ask him to pick up the soap afterwards, I don't see a problem."

Adam feigned shock. "Jane, you're gross."

"Yeah, I know. Now go and shower. I'll be waiting for you."

Adam lifted a hand to his forehead to salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Joan still had a bit of a goofy smile on her face as she watched Adam leave with his gym bag slung over his shoulder, trying not to think how much she wanted to join him in the shower right here, right now.

* * *


	7. Family Night

_**Chapter 7**_  
**Family Night**

_by Sisterdebmac_

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**  
_Once again, I must give credit to the tireless TeeJay, who came up with her next chapter before I even finished my last one. And I began this one without having seen a completed version of her latest one. This thing has taken on a life of its own. We only hope others will enjoy reading this as much as we have enjoyed writing it._

_**DELETED SCENE ALERT**! This chapter has a deleted scene that follows what you can read here. Please check out "Butterflies: the unadulterated version" in the M-rated section for that scene if you're interested in that kind of thing._

_**Summary: **Joan brings her "new boyfriend" to the Girardis' house for their monthly family dinner._

_**Genre:** Fluff, pure and simple._

_**Rating:** PG-13 for some frank language, but it's pretty innocuous._

_**Disclaimer:** They're not mine...blah blah blah. Barbara Hall...blah blah blah. CBS...blah blah blah._

* * *

Adam and Joan languished over a very late breakfast on Sunday morning. They had barely left her apartment since Friday night. It was glorious. Such a nice break from reality to just be together, with no distractions.

He did take her to pick up her car from work on Saturday afternoon and they went by his house for a change of clothes and his toiletries. Then they bought some groceries and rented a couple of movies. It was the longest date of both their lives, but neither of them ever brought up the subject of when it might end.

"So," she said as she idly toyed with the last remnants of her raspberry jam toast on the plate in front of her, "I was thinking, why don't you come to Family Night tonight?"

"That dinner you have every month with your folks?"

"Yeah."

"I thought that was just for the family." He sipped at his coffee, looking at the mug as he put it down again on the table.

"And an occasional very, very special guest," she smiled and leaned across the table to give him a quick kiss, relishing the faint coffee taste in her mouth.

He smiled back but it didn't last long. "Have you ever brought any other guy to Family Night?" he wondered.

"Once," she said as casually as she could.

"Yeah?" He knew it was silly, but the thought did sting a bit.

"Yeah," she confirmed, trying not to sound defensive. "What, you never introduced another girl to your dad?"

"Once," he admitted.

"Really?" She didn't remember him ever mentioning a girl.

He realized that she must've been wondering why he hadn't told her. "You know that time when we didn't talk for a while? What was it? Like eight months?"

She nodded. "Three years ago, because of school and everything."

"Yeah."

"Who was she?"

Was she jealous? Or merely curious, Adam wondered. "I met her at Rizde. We were only together three months. It seemed great at first, but I just didn't... I never really... I never felt that click, you know?"

She did. She most assuredly did know exactly what he meant. Cute guys were a dime a dozen at college. And there were even a few of them at work if you counted the delivery guys and utility guys, and she saw enough of them when she was out with her friends. She'd dated enough of them to know that cute just wasn't enough.

She had her fun, but the truth was no one had ever clicked with her before either. That wasn't true anymore. "And now?" she asked Adam. "Are you clicking like I'm clicking?" She rose and stood before him.

He rose too. "I'm clicking, oh God, Jane, I am so clicking." He kissed her and she held onto him like she might never again let him go.

When they were both out of breath, they just embraced and tried to relax. He brushed her hair back off her face and kissed her forehead.

"I want them to know how happy I am—_we_ are," she said softly.

After that kiss, it took him a minute to remember that she was talking about having him to the Girardis' monthly family night dinner. "Yeah," he finally said, "me too."

* * *

Joan would have been lying if she said she wasn't a tiny bit nervous. At the other end of the receiver, her mother rambled on about a new painting technique she had recently learned, and she wondered why her mother was telling her this in the first place. She didn't know the first thing about painting.

Her mom should talk to Adam about that, she thought. Which brought her back to the reason for her nervousness.

"Can I bring a guest to Family Night?" she suddenly blurted.

"A guest? Like who?" Helen replied.

Joan hesitated, but she didn't know why. "Um, my new boyfriend."

Helen couldn't stop a tiny squeal from escaping her before she sobered and said, "That's wonderful, honey! Of course you can bring him."

"Cool. See you tonight. Bye mom." She hung up before there could be any questions.

* * *

They stood on the porch of her parents' house and he was glad she was holding his hand because he couldn't believe how nervous he was. And he felt stupid about it, which only made things worse. Why should he be so nervous? He knew these people. They had always been great to him. Even in the worst circumstances. He shifted uncomfortably and straightened his collar with his free hand. Joan smiled at him, sympathy in her eyes, but also maybe a little anxiety of her own.

The door opened and it was Kevin. He was smiling and just as he was about to greet his sister, he saw that her companion, her "new boyfriend", was her old boyfriend, Adam. He shook his head, but he never stopped smiling.

"Hey Kev," Joan leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Adam uttered a nervous, "Hi."

Kevin casually replied, "Hey," and stuck his fist out for Adam.

Amused and relieved, Adam touched it with his.

Kevin spun his wheelchair around and rolled back into the house gesturing for them to follow. "It's Joan and the new guy," he announced as he rolled into the living room.

Joan and Adam walked in right behind him, still hand in white-knuckled hand.

Will stood up from his arm chair. Luke entered from the kitchen. Both were surprised at first. Will didn't know what to say. He remained frozen to his spot. Finally, he opened his mouth as if might have found his voice, but Luke crossed the room first and held out a hand for Adam to shake. "Dude," he smiled. "How are ya?"

"OK," Adam returned his smile.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it back to town in time for your dad's funeral," Luke told him, true sympathy in both his voice and eyes.

Adam's taut anticipation lessened a little and a tinge of sadness crept into his voice. "No, it's OK. I got your card. Thanks for the donation."

"How's Grace?" Luke asked.

Adam now smiled a little. "She's good. She's got a new dog."

"A dog?" Luke couldn't hide the surprise from his voice. Grace had never seemed like a dog person.

"Yeah, Caesar. He's an Irish Setter. He's beautiful."

That seemed to take Luke aback. "Caesar? An anarchist would name her dog Caesar?"

"Um, he's a rescue. That was already his name," Adam explained.

"Oh." Luke nodded.

"She tried calling him Chezare, but he wouldn't answer to it."

From the corner of his eyes, Adam detected movement in the back of the room. Helen appeared from the kitchen, saying, "¾I'm sorry but you kind of have to babysit the beef so it doesn't overcook"

She stopped short when she saw them. It was him? _He _was Joan's "new boyfriend"? Her heart swelled watching him stand there, sheepishly holding her daughter's hand, silently begging, begging for her to think it was all right.

She shook her head as tears filled her eyes. Was he really back? She wiped her hands on the towel she carried and tossed it aside. And she went to him and wrapped her arms around him without a word. He let go of Joan's mostly¾hand and held her mother. All three of them fought back sniffles because they knew the Girardi men were uncomfortably looking on. Helen brushed Adam's cheek with her palm as she released him.

And that was more than enough for Adam to know that it indeed was all right. He could hardly describe the feeling of gratitude that welled up inside of him. She had always been something of a surrogate mother to him, and it seemed like that wasn't about to stop now.

To rid the room of the awkwardness all around, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small, square item wrapped in a green cloth, tied with thin green rope. He handed it to Helen, saying shyly, "I, uhm... I brought something for you."

She unwrapped it carefully and found a very small, intricate drawing of a gothic cathedral in a matching small frame. She studied it closely before she said, "Adam, it's really incredible."

"I'm kinda fascinated with miniatures these days. I like the details. You really have to slow down to get all the details."

Helen smiled at him. "Yes, you do." She looked around the room, as if she was searching for a place to put it. "I think I'll hang this in the hall."

Adam just nodded and nervously stole a glance at Joan's father. Will still looked skeptical, but not disapproving. Adam breathed a small inward sigh of relief before he fully met Will's eyes. Will nodded once and said, "Hello, Adam."

Helen ushered them into the dining room, but somehow they all ended up in the kitchen, save for Will who sat back down in his arm chair, going back to the book he had been reading.

Joan helped her mother finish preparing dinner and Luke volunteered himself and Adam to set the table, and no one in the house had to ask why. He in private.¾obviously wanted to ask Adam about Grace

"Is she seeing anyone?" he asked as soon as they were in the dining room, out of earshot of everyone else.

"Uh, yeah."

"She has a boyfriend?"

"Girlfriend," Adam corrected him matter-of-factly.

"Girlfriend?" Luke gaped.

"Yeah... Uh... I thought you knew she's bisexual now."

"She's... bi... what, now?" Luke stumbled on the concept. It was as a bit of shock. Or more than a bit.

"It's not exactly a secret."

"Maybe not to some people."

"Sorry man, I figured Joan would've told you."

"Joan knew?" Luke asked, then nodded. "And she didn't think it was something she should mention? Wait, you're not pulling my chain, are you?"

Luke looked Adam in the eyes, unsure what to make of this news. Adam only stood there, guilelessly shaking his head. Luke answered the question for himself. "No, you wouldn't."

Adam wasn't sure if that was a compliment to his integrity or an insult to some perceived lack of humor. Many people wrongly thought of him as dour or just too serious. They had no idea.

"She's happy?" Luke finally asked sincerely.

"I think so, yeah."

Luke nodded, thinking how much things had changed for him in the last few years. He barely managed to get back to Arcadia once a month for the family dinner with his insane work schedule. Every time he came home, he wanted to pick up the phone and call Grace. And now, contrary to what he might've imagined, he wanted to call her even more. He wanted to hear her voice and know for himself that she was doing OK. And he was a little curious, too.

Adam seemed to be reading his mind. He asked, "Should I tell her to call you sometime?"

"Absolutely." It came out maybe a bit too eager, and Luke could see that Adam had to suppress a smile. Luke had to give him credit for not commenting on it further, though.

They continued setting the table in silence for a bit before Luke decided to change the subject. "So..." he sighed, "you and Joan, you're really back together?"

"Yeah," Adam nodded. He wasn't sure why he said what came out of his mouth next, but he never had a chance to stop it, "I want to marry her someday, Luke."

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"Does she wanna marry you?"

"I don't know. I haven't mentioned it yet. It's way too soon." Adam set down the fork and knife he was holding next to the plate and looked back up at Luke. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything."

"Oh, sure," Luke agreed.

"I want to ask her myself when the time is right."

"Of course."

* * *

In the kitchen, Helen was fussing with the bruschetta in the oven before she turned to Joan and said, "You know how I feel about that young man in there. I just worry because it's so complicated with you two."

"Not anymore," Joan told her.

"Are you sure you know what you're getting into?"

"I love him, Mom," Joan said simply.

"Oh, I know that," Helen said as she gave her daughter a quick one-armed squeeze. "Is it enough?"

"I've seen him at his best and I've seen him at his worst. And I love him just the same."

"You're sleeping with him," Helen concluded with no judgment in her voice.

"Yeah," Joan confirmed with no shame in hers.

Helen nodded. "You're sure it's really love you're feeling for him and not just that he's going through a rough time and you're comforting him and it's kind of sexy?"

"Mom! This is not 'The English Patient' here, OK? I think I've loved Adam all my waking life. And it's _way_ beyond kind of sexy." She gave her mother a pointedly raised eyebrow.

Helen shook her head at too many images in this one Joan blurt. Finally, when she was able to form a thought, she said, "So, you're really serious about him... again?"

Joan didn't even pause to consider it. "Yes."

"After only two weeks?"

"A lot has happened in those two weeks, Mom. There's all this intense... stuff between us," she struggled for words that would make sense. "Like we've known each other forever and yet it's all brand new, you know?"

Helen smiled. "I think I do." She knew she had no say over this. None. Maybe it was their time. Why shouldn't it be? They were kind-hearted, capable young adults who had obviously adored each other through thick and thin for, wow, six years. Helen trusted them to do right by each other, whatever that turned out to be. She took Joan's hand. "I'm happy for you, honey. I am."

Joan nodded, returning her mother's warm smile. "Thanks, Mom," she whispered.

"Are you thinking about the future?" Helen asked.

"Actually, I'm just trying to live in the now because you never know when it can be taken away."

* * *

Dinner was very pleasant. Helen made an incredibly tender beef stroganoff, Italian green beans, and spinach tomato and four-cheese bruschetta. And there was strawberry gelato and shortcakes with homemade strawberry sauce for dessert. Two bottles of red wine were passed around, but Adam drank water. He liked having his wits about him and he felt that it was certainly a good idea to be sober with the Girardis tonight.

After dinner, they sat in the living room and talked for a while. Adam told everyone about his design work and the recent gallery showings he'd had. Joan sat by him on the sofa and she couldn't stop stroking the thick hair on the back of his head. She was so proud of him. She just kept marveling at the fact that he was hers again. And everyone she loved knew it.

After a while, Will stood up and looked at Adam. He had lately taken to having an occasional after-dinner cigar. Helen made him do it outside on the back patio.

"Adam, why don't you join me outside?" he asked casually.

Adam looked at Joan, unsure what to make of this. He got up, seeing how he didn't really have a choice but to honor Mr. Girardi's request. Joan started to protest but Will put a hand on Adam's shoulder and told her, "I promise to play nice."

The idea of her father interrogating him seemed to bother Joan more than Adam. "Guess that leaves the women-folk to do the chores," she snarked and returned to her mother's side in the kitchen.

Adam flashed her one of those amused, helpless smiles that she loved so much and it made her ache to kiss him. But Will turned him around and led him out the back door with a fine Cohiba in hand.

On the patio, Will fired up his cigar. "Would you like one of these, Adam?" he asked as he turned and puffed it to get it going.

"No sir. I never smoke."

"Smart," he smiled as he sat down and gestured for Adam to join him. "Let me know if this bothers you."

"No, it's OK. My dad used to smoke cigars sometimes. The smell kinda... makes me think of him," Adam said as he sat in the chair beside Will's.

"You doin' OK, since, you know...? I haven't seen you since the wake."

"Yes, sir. I'm doing fine... I have my moments, you know. But I'm getting through it."

"You're seeing a lot of Joan." It wasn't a question.

Adam cleared his throat. Right to the point, huh? He somehow let himself forget that Papa Girardi was a cop. "Yes, I am."

Well, that was a cold statement of fact, if ever there was one. He wanted to say so much more than that. He wanted to tell her father how precious she was to him. That he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life in her light.

"You care about her. She's not just conveniently there when you need her," Will prodded.

Adam's heart sank. It hurt him that her father might really think that of him. But he supposed he'd earned it, all those years ago. He didn't know what to say. He tried to speak and failed.

"Relax, kid. I'm just putting you through the ringer a little bit." Will laughed a little and slapped Adam on the knee.

"Is that a dad thing or a cop thing?"

"Both."

"I guess you're entitled. But Mr. Girardi, you need to know that I love Joan. I've loved her for almost as long as I've known her. I've loved her enough to let her go. I've loved her enough to stay away and let her live her life. I'm blessed that she's always been my friend. Always," his voice broke there. And a tear rose in his eye as he continued. "What's happening with us now is..." Why couldn't he say the words to her father that he'd so easily said to her brother? He wanted to kick himself. "Well, it's... I want it to be forever."

Will puffed on his cigar and studied the young man before him. He was no slouch. Not anymore. Had to give him that. Sure, there was still the funkiness of the artist about him, Will could see that. He still wore more jewelry than a man really should. But there was more of the young professional in him now than the teen ragamuffin he'd first known. "That's a long time, son. Think you can handle it?"

"Yes, sir. I love her that much."

* * *

As the evening drew to a close, Joan and Adam took on the task of clearing the after-dinner coffee and cake dishes. As soon as they loaded the dishwasher, she took a look around and certain that they would be alone for a few minutes, she grabbed Adam by the waist and pulled him to her for a kiss.

He lost the ability to think clearly almost instantly. He pushed her into the counter and pinned her there for the kiss they had both been dying for and denying themselves all night.

They didn't notice when Kevin wheeled into the room to say goodbye. He stopped just inside the doorway and watched them for a few seconds, both eyebrows raised. He wasn't sure if he was grossed out or kind of jealous of their seemingly unbreakable bond.

He shook his gaze loose from them and cleared his throat dramatically. They stopped and turned to look around, a little flushed, but not from embarrassment.

Kevin gave them a smart-assed little wave, as if to say, _I'm sitting right here, stop with the mating._ Progress for him. A few years before, he would've said it out loud. Instead, he only said, "I'm heading out, so..."

He hesitated for a second, watched them standing together, still maintaining contact. Yes, he was actually jealous. "Uh, it was good to see you, Adam. You guys... take care of each other," he smiled sincerely, hoping it was the right thing to say.

Joan and Adam went over to him and she gave him a hug. Adam shook his hand. Kevin turned to wheel out and Joan followed him. "Hey, how 'bout calling me sometime, Kev? You know the phone works both ways."

"I will, I will, OK? I promise."

Adam smiled and watched them leave the room. He started to follow them but Helen reappeared. She was surprised to see him just standing there in her kitchen all by himself. "Hey," she smiled quizzically.

"Hey," he smiled back.

Unsure what to say to him, she leaned on the old mom fallback crutch of fussing over him, "Can I get you anything else? Did you get enough to eat? I should give you something to take home."

He reached out toward her, "Mrs. G? I'm fine, thanks. I really enjoyed being here tonight. Thanks for letting me come."

"Of course, sweetie. You're always welcome in our house."

Silence fell between them for a long moment and he thought maybe he knew why. "Is this gonna be weird for you? Joan and I being back together? Because I know I disappointed you," he shook his head, "everyone... But I will never do anything to hurt her again. I swear."

She took his hand. "I wish that was a promise you could make. I'm sure you won't hurt her intentionally. And I hope that you'll try to be patient and aware enough not to hurt her very often unintentionally... Adam, I don't expect you to be perfect. Neither does she."

"I think Mr. Girardi does."

"Maybe, but he's her father. Worrying about her is his job."

He nodded, trying to take comfort in her words.

"Bottom line is, just be good to each other. When all else fails, do that one thing and you'll be OK."

Adam smiled warmly at her and made a mental note to always keep that in mind.

* * *

Driving home, Joan rested her head on Adam's shoulder. He briefly looked over at her sitting in the passenger seat and then directed his gaze back to the street in front of him. They rode in silence for a while before he finally said, "You know, your mom is really smart."

"Yeah," Joan sighed against him.

"And it's obvious where you get your great looks..."

She raised her head and looked at him.

He glanced at her and smiled. "She's really amazing," he continued.

"Adam, what are you saying?"

"I think I wanna marry your mom."

She punched his arm and looked at him, her mouth agape, then she melted into a grin as he laughed too and grabbed his stinging limb. "Ow!"

She laughed at him and leaned back into him. He lifted his arm, pretending it hurt and draped it over her shoulder. He quickly kissed the top of her head while trying to maintain control of the car.

"So, it went well tonight." She meant it as a statement, but it came out like a question.

"Yeah," he affirmed. "Your dad was a little scary..."

"Maybe he knows you've got the hots for my mom."

He laughed and hugged her tighter. "Nah, only you."

"What did you say to Luke? He's usually yammering on about all the projects he's working on in particle whoziwhatsits. But he was so... weirdly quiet all night."

Adam gripped the wheel a little too hard. "Uh, he asked if Grace is seeing anyone."

"Oh." She didn't need to ask if Adam had told him the truth. It was obvious now. "The sad thing is, now in retrospect, I can't decide if he was appalled or turned on." Adam opened his mouth to speculate, but she cut him off. "And I don't think I really wanna know."

He shut up and prepared to let it go.

"Guys are such pervs," she noted.

"Ah," he winced and pretended the remark stung him, "that hurts."

"Not you, necessarily," she said dismissively.

"Why not me?" he asked, feigning offense.

"OK, so you're a skeevy perv like every other guy," she joked. "If you don't get me home soon, we're going to find out just how much of one."

He turned his head fully to look at the suggestive smirk on her lips.

She nodded and said, "Watch the road."

He swallowed hard and refocused with some difficulty.

"Do you think the cops still bust people for parking?" she asked, resting her hand on his thigh.

He drew in a sharp breath and tried not to think too much about her hand on his leg. If they didn't get home soon, he didn't think he would be responsible for his actions. So he focused his gaze on the road, put the pedal to the metal and prayed that there weren't cops around who were intent on handing out speeding tickets...

_...continues in Chapter 7a Family Night (Deleted Scene) in the Mature section (Butterflies: the unadulterated version)._

* * *


	8. Monday

_**Chapter 8**_  
**Monday_  
_**_  
by Sisterdebmac_

* * *

**Author's Note:**___  
Joan and Adam have trouble concentrating on work. This fic involves an IM conversation. But I decided to write it in mostly correct grammar and fairly complete sentences. Please don't don't hold that against me. I know it's not the way people really talk in IMs, but I'm telling a story here. _

**ALTERNATE R-RATED VERSION ALERT!** _This chapter originally had an alternate ending that includes pure smut, which we took out of the PG version. If you would like to read this chapter in its entirety with the smutty part included, please go to Butterflies: the unadulterated version in the M-rated section.  
_

**Rated:**___ PG_

**Genre:**___Fluff._

**Disclaimer:**___  
They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah._

* * *

**Monday morning, 11:20 am**

**AdMan:** Hey beautiful, how's your day going?  
**GoToGrrrl:** Hectic. Yours?  
**AdMan:** Well, I have to go into a meeting with a  
client in about 15 minutes and I'm not looking  
forward to it. What are you up to?  
**GoToGrrrl:** Talking about you with my friends.  
**AdMan:** Should I be worried?  
**GoToGrrrl:** Only if you're afraid of flattery.  
**AdMan:** Bring it on.  
**GoToGrrrl:** LOL! So what's this meeting you're  
dreading?  
**AdMan:** Oh, this guy's just really hard to please.  
No matter how good our presentations are, he always  
has to change something. Sometimes, just the tiniest  
detail. We think he just needs to feel important, like  
he's contributing something.  
**GoToGrrrl:** I know people like that. Very annoying.  
**AdMan:** Am I going to see you tonight?  
**GoToGrrrl:** You're not sick of me yet?  
**AdMan:** You're kidding, right?  
**GoToGrrrl:** What did you have in mind?  
**AdMan:** Not sure you wanna go there right now.  
**GoToGrrrl:** LOL! How do you know?  
**AdMan:** We should probably try not to think about  
those things while we're at work. Too distracting.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Right. You are a wise and thoughtful  
man. Also mad hot.  
**AdMan:** You better stop that...  
**GoToGrrrl:** OK. :-(  
**AdMan:** Actually, I was thinking I'd pick something  
up for dinner and bring it to your place. Unless you  
want a change of scenery. You could come to the  
house.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Dinner at your place sounds nice.  
**AdMan:** Uh-oh. As usual, our client is early. I gotta  
run. Talk to you later, OK?  
**GoToGrrrl:** I'll be here. Good luck in your meeting.  
**AdMan:** Thanks!

**ADMAN HAS SIGNED OFF**

_One hour and fifteen minutes later..._

**ADMAN HAS SIGNED ON**

**AdMan:** I'm back.  
**GoToGrrrl:** How'd it go?  
**AdMan:** Same as always. We have to make half a  
dozen changes that nobody but this guy will ever  
even notice.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Sorry.  
**AdMan:** No big deal. Hey, what do you feel like for  
dinner?  
**GoToGrrrl:** I don't know, anything you want is fine.  
**AdMan:** Anything?  
**GoToGrrrl:** Sure. As long as you go with it.  
**AdMan:** :-)  
**GoToGrrrl:** I'll take that as an enthusiastic yes.  
**AdMan:** Yes. So how does Chinese sound?  
**GoToGrrrl:** Fine with me.  
**AdMan:** I probably won't be home till about 7.  
**GoToGrrrl:** I'll try to hang on till then.  
**AdMan:** Speaking of trying to hang on, I need a  
picture of you for my desk. Do you have one?  
**GoToGrrrl:** I think I can scrounge something up.  
**AdMan:** Or you can email me something and I can  
make you my wallpaper.  
**GoToGrrrl:** A picture on your desk is more than  
enough, I think.  
**AdMan:** Well, OK.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Hey, all my friends here in the office  
want to meet you.  
**AdMan:** Yeah?  
**GoToGrrrl:** I told them we'd do something soon.  
Go for drinks after work or something. Is that OK?  
**AdMan:** Sure. How many people are we talking  
about?  
**GoToGrrrl:** I don't know, 4 or 5 maybe.  
**AdMan:** I guess we could arrange something.  
Nobody here even believes you exist.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Oh, that's why you want the picture.  
**AdMan:** LOL. Busted.  
**GoToGrrrl:** You must have a thousand pictures  
you took when we were kids. You could use one  
of those.  
**AdMan:** Yeah, I do and they're great. But I want  
a picture of you now. You were a beautiful girl,  
Jane. But you are a STUNNING woman.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Wow. OK, I can't find the little  
blushing emoticon. BTW, I didn't think it was  
possible, but you've gotten way sexier yourself.  
**AdMan:** That's... um... thanks?  
**GoToGrrrl:** Damn! Hang on. I have to take a  
call. BRB  
**AdMan:** OK

_Ten minutes later..._

**GoToGrrrl:** Back. What were we saying?  
**AdMan:** I was wondering what I should pick up  
for dinner.  
**GoToGrrrl:**I'm not picky. Something with  
chicken, and noodles, and no MSG.  
**AdMan:** Not picky, huh?  
**GoToGrrrl:** OK, maybe a little.  
**AdMan:** Should I get anything to drink? I'm pretty  
sure there's nothing at the house.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Nah, you're intoxicating enough.  
**AdMan:** God, I can't wait to see you. I just left  
you what? Five hours ago? And I can't wait to  
see you.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Same here.  
**AdMan:**We're pretty pathetic, aren't we?  
**GoToGrrrl:** Yes, we are. I told you.  
**AdMan:** Yeah. What are you doing for lunch?  
**GoToGrrrl:** Adam! Are you suggesting what I  
think you're suggesting?  
**AdMan:** What?  
**AdMan:** No! No, I just noticed it was past noon.  
And I can't find the blushing emoticon thing either.  
**GoToGrrrl:** LOL. OK, so I'm alone with my  
one-track mind.  
**AdMan:** Um...not quite. It's just that I'm in this  
big giant room that's only separated by glass  
cubicle walls. Everyone can see me.  
**GoToGrrrl:** So?  
**AdMan:** So, it's hard to really let my mind  
wander as much it wants to when I'm sitting out  
here in the open, exposed.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Hmmm, modesty? So cute!  
**AdMan:** You think so?  
**GoToGrrrl:** Definitely.  
**AdMan:** Are you going out with your friends for  
lunch?  
**GoToGrrrl:** Yeah, we have to talk about you some more.  
**AdMan:** I'm not really sure that's fair since I won't be  
there to defend myself.  
**GoToGrrrl:** You want to come with us? I told  
you they want to meet you.  
**AdMan:** Totally outnumbered and under the microscope?  
Now, I'm sure that wouldn't be fair.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Yeah, I guess a Happy Hour type  
situation would be easier.  
**AdMan:** Maybe we can do something like that  
later in the week. Maybe I could bring a couple of people  
from the studio.  
**GoToGrrrl:** That sounds like a plan. How about  
Thursday or Friday?  
**AdMan:** Sounds good. I'll ask around.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Me too.  
**AdMan:** I have an idea.  
**GoToGrrrl:** What?  
**AdMan:** Why don't you run by your apartment,  
pack an overnight bag and bring a change of  
clothes to my house?  
**GoToGrrrl:** I like the way you think.  
**AdMan:** I like everything about you.  
**GoToGrrrl:** Hey, the girls are trying to get me to  
head out for lunch, so I guess I should go. Can I  
call you on my break? I wanna hear your voice.  
**AdMan:** Yeah, sure.  
**GoToGrrrl:** OK, I'll talk to you in a little while.  
**AdMan:** Have a nice lunch.  
**GoToGrrrl:** You too.

**GOTOGRRRL HAS SIGNED OFF**

**ADMAN HAS SIGNED OFF**

* * *

**The Phone Call**

Adam walked along the sidewalk toward a bench with a bagged lunch and a soda from the office campus cafeteria in one hand and a small sketchbook in the other. He felt the cell phone in his pocket vibrate and hurried to the bench to put his stuff down so he could fish it out. He looked at the caller ID and smiled when he saw that it said Joan.

"Hey baby," he said when he flipped it open to answer her call.

His greeting threw her for a second. "I don't think you ever called me that before... in real life."

"Sorry." Oops, that was a misstep.

"I think I like it," she said huskily.

"Oh," he swallowed.

"Where are you?"

"In the park by the studio," he said taking a seat on the bench.

"The park?"

"Yeah. It's a nice day. I pick up a sandwich sometimes and eat out here. Read. Think. Sketch even. Where are you?"

"In the ladies room at the restaurant."

"Alone?"

"Yeah," she smiled, wondering where he was going with this.

"That's one of the advantages of being out here."

"No one's watching you?" she asked, intrigued.

"No one."

Cool, she could flirt. "What are you wearing?"

He melted into a smile. "You are so bad. Um, charcoal gray slacks, blue dress shirt."

"I love blue on you. What kind of shoes?"

"Well, they're kind of these black leather, uh..." He looked down at them, but there was no label on the outside. "I don't know..." he conceded, "shoes."

She laughed at his adorable ineptitude with fashion.

"You're makin' fun of me, Jane."

"No, I'm really not. I swear." Maybe he didn't care about the brand names but he was dressing well these days. Obviously trying to look professional for his job. Probably found his style by doing research online. She could see what he was describing. And envision herself stripping it off him.

"Whatever."

"No, really. I was just thinking about unbuttoning your shirt..."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. And unbuckling your belt..."

"O-OK," he gulped, looking around to make sure there was no one nearby.

"Unzipping your pants..." she continued.

"Whoa, Jane— Uh... Go easy on me, please. Maybe nobody's watching me this exact second, but... you know, I don't wanna be the perv in the park, OK?"

"Oh, OK..." She forced herself to come back to earth. "I'll behave... If I have to."

"Just for now. You can be all kinds of naughty later."

"Oooh, sounds great."

He went silent for a second. She wished she could see him, suss out what he was thinking.

"You know I love you, right, Jane?" he said quietly. He sounded so serious. It kind of scared her. "Jane?" he said again when she didn't respond.

"Yeah, I know," she whispered.

"I love flirting with you like this. Being kind of silly" he told her. "It's really...uh...sexy. But you know it's way more than that. Right?"

"Yeah. Of course I do. I love you too."

"So... I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah... I guess I'd better get back to the table so I can kick in my part of the check."

"OK."

"Talk to you later."

"Bye Jane."

"Bye."

* * *

**Dinner**

The table was set when she got there. The house was clean. The lights were low. And there was an arrangement of fresh flowers as a center piece.

"You hungry?" he asked as she entered the dining area and dropped her bag.

"Oh yeah," she said, but instead of sitting at the table, she moved into his arms. He held her and kissed the top of her head. She lifted her head and kissed his lips softly. "So let's eat," she smiled and pulled away from him to sit down.

"What do you want to drink?"

"Water's fine."

She watched him disappear into the kitchen and surveyed the food choices he made. "This looks great," she called to him.

He returned with two glasses of ice water and sat down across the small dining table from her. The flowers were in the way. He couldn't see her. He stood and moved them to one side.

"They're beautiful, by the way," she said, pointing to them, but watching him.

"There's a florist next door to the restaurant. I couldn't resist," he smiled at her. "You should take them to work tomorrow, for your desk."

"And make my friends even more jealous?"

He laughed. "Sure, why not?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, why not?" She picked up one of the food containers and began shoveling chicken lo mein onto her plate. "Actually, they're all pretty excited for me. They know I don't date much. And they know all about you. The whole history and everything."

Adam looked a little queasy at that thought. "Really?"

"Hey, the past is the past. They're totally rooting for us. They think it's all very romantic. And it is."

He thought about it for a second and he supposed she was right. "I guess it is, in a tragic sort of way. I wish I didn't have to lose my dad for this to happen."

She stopped and looked at him, feeling a little embarrassed. "Of course."

He shook off the melancholy that was threatening to take hold of him and reached for the Triple Delight. He dumped some of it onto his plate, added some rice and looked at her again. "So you don't date much, huh?"

She shook her head and scrunched her nose up a little. "I used to think it was because I was too busy. You know, I had school and a part time job, and now I have my real job. And... things always come up and get in the way of me having much of a social life..."

Should she tell Adam that she was still talking to Him, though these days the 'assignments' were much fewer and farther between? She was going to have to tell him eventually. She would rather be damned than ruin what she had with Adam again. This time, there would be no hiding and no secrets. Was she wrong not to bring it up before it was absolutely necessary?

"Jane?" Adam nudged gently when she stopped talking and drifted off into her thoughts. He'd seen that look before.

She came back to him when she heard his voice. And tried to get back on point. "So what's your excuse?"

"For what?"

"Why you don't date more."

He shrugged one shoulder as he chewed a bite of food. "Don't really have one. I just, I don't know... I don't like bars much so I don't meet that many new people. Except at work. And they're mostly older, professional types. Not a lot of dating material."

"How'd we get to be such losers?"

"Years of practice?"

"We're still subdefectives," she mused, laughing a little. He laughed too.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Adam wondered how anyone as beautiful and loving and smart and sexy and amazing as Joan could keep the guys away. Especially in college. He struggled with the words long before he opened his mouth to speak, and long after, "So... um... am I allowed to ask...?"

"What?" she prodded, even though she was pretty sure she knew what he was trying to ask.

"H-how many other guys have you slept with?"

"It's OK. You can ask. As long as it's quid pro quo."

He nodded.

"One," she said simply. And she put her fork aside too.

"One?"

"Yeah," she nodded. Was that relief in his eyes?

"How serious was it?"

"Seemed pretty serious at the time."

"Did you love him?" he asked very quietly.

"I might've thought so for about five minutes. But I came to my senses." She drew his eyes to hers and held them. "Adam, I don't think I've never really loved anyone but you."

He smiled and took her hand and kissed it. Yes, he was relieved. He knew he had no right to be. But he most definitely was.

"You know that I take this very seriously. I believe it's supposed to mean something. I've never been the one night stand type."

He nodded. "I know."

"That's why there's only been one guy..." she said. "OK, your turn. How many other girls?"

"Three."

"Wow. For a guy our age, that's... you're like, a monk."

"Felt like it sometimes." He laughed a little uncomfortably.

"So... why?"

"I don't know really. I had chances... It just rarely ever felt right, you know?"

She nodded. She knew. "Were you serious about any of them?"

He nodded, folding his hands together. "The one I mentioned before—three months, brought her home to meet dad..."

"Did you love her?" Joan asked tentatively.

He looked down. "Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"We had a good thing for a while but we just never felt... connected... We cared about each other but it was more like we were... friends with benefits or something. It was never going to be any deeper than that. It wasn't enough. And that wasn't fair to either of us."

"Who ended it?"

"We both did." He examined his fingernails for a second, avoiding eye contact. "We decided to just cool things out and see if we wanted to be friends. We were for a while, but it kind of fizzled."

He seemed so sad when he said that. Joan had a feeling there was more to the story. That someone had been really hurt by whatever transpired. But she let it go. She slipped her hand into his again, and smiled at him across the table.

Adam took her hand in both of his and looked at her sweetly. "Jane, the way I feel when I'm with you, whether we're making love or just sitting here talking like this... that's what it's supposed to be like. There's never any question. Nothing has ever made me so happy."

"Me neither," she whispered and she got up, never letting go of his hands, and went to sit in his lap. She put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. He kissed her neck and held her to him.

She held his face and kissed his forehead. She stroked his hair and kissed his perfect eyebrows, the bridge of his lovely Roman nose, his fine cheekbones. He wrapped his arms around her and reveled in the soft touch of her full lips. Finally she tilted his head up and kissed his mouth.

Oh God, she wanted him so much.

He broke the kiss and reached up and gently pushed her hair back off her face, tucking it behind her ears. She reveled in his touch. "I love you so much, Jane."

She took one of his hands and kissed it, back side, palm side. She kissed each fingertip. And then she took his middle finger between her lips, caressed it and sucked on it. She watched his eyes flutter, heard him draw a breath.

She threaded her fingers through his and kissed him. "Let's go upstairs."

"Yeah..." he sighed.

Finishing dinner would have to wait.

* * *


	9. OTR Blues

_**Chapter 9**_  
**OTR Blues**

_by Sisterdebmac_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
It's only natural. It happens to all women. And now, after weeks of bliss, Joan is waylaid by it. Poor thing. So it's Adam to the rescue. He's such a sweet man._

_Thanks again to TeeJay for additional material and being a great beta reader!_

_**Genre:**  
Fluff, pure and simple._

_**Rating:**  
PG-13 for some frank language, but it's pretty innocuous._

_**Disclainer:**  
They're not mine...blah blah blah. Barbara Hall...blah blah blah. CBS...blah blah blah._

* * *

When he finally got her on the phone, Adam was so relieved to have reached her that he barely noticed how utterly beaten her voice sounded. "Jane? I was so worried. I called your cell and it was turned off, so I called you at work and they said you went home sick. I've been trying to reach you for an hour. Are you all right?" He got up from his office chair and left his cubicle to pace the hallway.

"No, I'm miserable," Joan answered weakly. She sat up slightly in bed and caught a shiver when the comforter slipped off her shoulders.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. He stopped pacing for a minute, leaning his back against the wall as he pressed the cell phone a little closer to his ear.

"I'm just having a really bad period."

"Bad period of what?" he asked.

"Period, Adam," she said, a little frustrated. "Monthly period."

"Oh, right. Sorry. I'm an idiot." He pushed himself off the wall and walked slowly towards the elevators.

She softened. "No, you're not."

"Is there anything I can do?" He tried to make his voice as compassionate as he could.

"No, it's probably best if I'm on my own. I'll just over-medicate and stay in bed." Her hand went through her hair to push some of the rogue strands off her face. "It'll pass... eventually."

"Over-medicate?" he stopped dead in his tracks. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Relax. It's just over the counter stuff. It doesn't really help much, so I kind of end up taking a lot."

"Is it always this bad?" he softly inquired.

Joan sighed. "No, usually, I can tough it out. But this one just hit me really hard. I couldn't function at work, I felt so bad. And I'm just really, really irritable right now. My back is killing me. My head hurts so bad I can barely keep my eyes open and I can't get warm."

"Do you have a fever?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm just bleeding to death. That's why I'm cold."

"Oh," he said and he went silent.

"Sorry. That was kind of gross," she said quietly.

"It's OK. Are you sure you don't need anything?" His brain was already working on things he could do or say to make her feel better.

"Well, we were supposed to go to happy hour tonight, so I need for you to call your friends and tell them I can't make it."

"That's no problem. Can I come over and take care of you?" he almost pleaded.

She tried not to sound irritated when she said, "To be honest, it bugs me to have male energy around me when I feel like this."

"Oh..." he didn't quite know how to respond to that. He paused for several seconds and his hand went to his eyebrow to rub it. "Uh, OK. I'll call off happy hour, and I guess... you just rest."

"OK," she said and she lay back down, a little relieved that he was taking it so well.

"But if you change your mind, if you need anything at all, anything, just call me," she heard Adam's voice through the receiver.

"I'll be fine," she reassured him. She suddenly realized that she probably had him all worried and tense now. What could she say to calm him? "Been dealing with this for years. You know you could still go out with your friends or something. Don't let me ruin your Friday night."

"Nah, we'll reschedule for later," he said off-handedly. The whole idea for the get-together was for them to introduce each other to their friends. It was completely pointless to go without her.

"OK. Listen, I have to run to the bathroom --- just another one of the gross symptoms. I'll talk to you later," she said and she hung up before he could say anything else.

When he switched off his cell, he'd already made a decision.

* * *

After work, Adam headed straight for the drug store. He told the pharmacist what Joan's symptoms were and she recommended a natural botanical blend that might be of some help. She also recommended a heating pad or hot water bottle.

When he went to the display stand he was directed to, he was amazed at the variety of hot water bottles they offered. He had a hard time picking one, but he really liked the ones with the soft fleece covers. He finally chose one in a vibrant but not too loud green tone because he knew it was one of Joan's favorite colors.

He knocked tentatively on Joan's apartment door at about 7 o'clock that evening. He waited for a while and there was no answer. That worried him at first. But then he remembered she was in bed and figured she might be sleeping. He had almost decided to just leave the bag by the door and call her to let her know it was there when she finally opened it. She was in flannel pjs, with her robe pulled tight up to her chin. Her hair was a tousled mess. He knew she was miserable, but to him, she looked absolutely adorable.

"I thought I told you to stay away," she said, watching him standing there with a big paper bag.

He wasn't hurt by her rather direct dismissal. "I know. I'm sorry. I brought you some things I think might help. Let me bring them in for you, and then I'll go. OK?" He held out the single red rose he'd been hiding behind his back.

She smiled a little, took it from him and moved aside so that he could enter. "You are a very brave soul," she told him.

He showed her just how brave by leaning over and kissing her forehead. Then he took the bag to her dining table. She followed him. "You're right, you don't have a fever," he said.

She stopped for a second and touched her forehead, realizing the ulterior motive behind his kiss. "Sneaky," she commented.

"In fact, you're a little clammy."

"Well, thanks a lot!" she slapped his arm.

"Still cold?"

"Yeah," she said, still holding her robe tightly around her.

"Maybe I can help you with that."

"Adam, I am so beyond not in the mood—" Joan said exasperatedly.

"That's not what I meant. Just trust me, OK?"

She nodded a little reluctantly.

"I got these," he said holding out the bottle of herbal medicinals. "The pharmacist recommended them." He handed her the bottle and she read the indications. "That and ginger tea and honey." He showed her the tea. "Do you have honey?"

"I think so." She nodded wearily.

"Oh, and this. I just remembered how my mom always craved it... you know, at that time of the month. She taught me the fundamental rule of dealing with the opposite sex --- Never, ever come between a woman and her chocolate." He produced a gallon of Edy's Grand Double Fudge Brownie ice cream and wiggled it a little with his hand.

Joan's bottom lip went out and tears filled her eyes. She moved into his arms, surprising him greatly. "You are so good to me. I'm sorry I was so mean." She sniffled against his chest, sensing his surprise at her sudden physical nearness.

But his hands slowly came around her back and he held her, the ice cream container still in one hand. "Jane, you weren't mean. You just feel bad. It's OK." He stroked her hair very gently with his free hand, still unsure of her mood.

She pulled back a little and wiped her eyes and nose, almost embarrassed. "And this is all part of it, being overly-emotional." She brushed at the tear-stain she left on his shirt. "Sorry."

"No more apologies," he gently scolded as he put the ice cream in her freezer. "You want to take a couple of these pills?"

"Sure."

"OK, you go back to bed and I'll bring them. The pharmacist said juice was good for you right now, cranberry or apple." He opened her fridge. "Well, look at that, Cran-Apple," he smiled in mock-surprise.

She smiled a small smile back at him, nodded and went back to her bedroom.

He watched her go and then turned and got a glass down from the cabinet. He put ice in it and poured in some juice. He opened the pills and took two out before he filled her tea kettle with water and put it on to boil. As he waited, he noticed that she had some flower vases on top of her cabinets. He got her step stool out and took a rose vase down. He rinsed it out, filled it with water and put the rose in it, satisfied with the way it looked.

In the bedroom, Joan removed her robe and crawled slowly back into bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin and lay down. She felt just awful, but there was the hope now that relief might be coming, thanks to Adam. She hadn't wanted him there. Part of it was because she was in such a rotten mood she didn't want company of any kind. But another part of it was that she didn't want him to see her like that, to have to endure the pissy things she might say, or the long silences that she might fall into because she didn't really have the energy to talk.

None of that seemed to matter now. He came to help and she knew she should let him. Maybe he could make her feel better. And he would leave whenever she asked, she knew that. She sighed, trying to relax. It really did annoy her to be around guys when she was having a bad time with her period. She wasn't sure why --- some mysterious hormonal thing, probably. But that was guys, this was Adam.

She heard the tea kettle whistle and wondered what he was up to before she realized he was probably just making the ginger tea and honey. She closed her eyes and tried to rest as she waited for him.

When he entered her room with the rose vase and a glass of juice in one hand and the other behind his back, he saw that her eyes were closed. Her chest was rising up and down in regular, long breaths. He wasn't sure if she'd dozed off, but if she had, he didn't have the heart to wake her.

He quietly sat the rose vase and the juice on her bedside table, which startled her. She opened her eyes to see him leaning over the table. And he was holding something out of her view.

"What are you hiding there?" she asked.

A sly smile crossed his lips and he shook his head as an answer. "Close your eyes," he told her.

"Adam, I'm not in the mood for games," Joan told him.

"I know. It's not a game." He got down on his knees beside the bed. "Come on, close your eyes," he repeated. "I promise you'll like it."

"I'm far beyond liking anything at this point."

"Humor me, Jane," he said softly. His brown eyes on her with that soulful pleading look were too intense for her to not obey. So she did as he asked, she closed her eyes.

She could feel him lifting the covers off her torso and his hand gently pulling her right arm away from where it lay on her belly. A few seconds later, there was the pressure of something heavier being placed on the right side of her underbelly. Before long, comforting warmth flooded over the area.

She heard Adam's voice before she opened her eyes. "Now look at me and tell me honestly that you don't like it," he challenged her with an almost mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Joan's hand went to whatever Adam had just brought her, feeling the softness of the fleece-like material that covered a rubber core. "A hot water bottle," she said, a small smile on her face. "Oh, that feels so good." She looked into his eyes that were now directly on her. "Thank you," she said with true gratitude.

He leaned forward to give her another gentle kiss on the forehead. "Anything to make you feel better."

"You really know how to please a woman," Joan said, amused. "Even one who feels as shitty as I do."

"I just wish I could take the pain away," he sighed, leaning back on his heels.

"If you could figure out how to do that, you'd be a billionaire."

"There's juice here and, oh," he said as he took the pills out of his shirt pocket, "take these."

She rose up enough to swallow the pills and washed them down with some juice, making a face as she did so. Taking pills had been really hard for her as a kid and she still didn't like it. She always hated the feeling of them sticking to the back of her throat when they didn't fully go down right away.

"Is there anything else I can do?" his soft voice asked.

"You've done more than enough." She looked at him, wanted him to know how grateful she was. "Thank you."

He stood up. "OK, I guess I should take off and let you rest. Will you call me if you need anything?"

"Yeah."

He made it all the way to her bedroom door before she called to him. "Adam, wait."

He stopped and turned to her, his eyes patiently on her, waiting for whatever she had to say.

"I'm terrible company right now. I don't feel like cuddling or talking or doing anything really... But you could stay if you want to."

He didn't need a second invitation. Without a word, he kicked off his shoes and lay down atop the comforter on the other side of her bed, far enough away so she wouldn't feel crowded. He looked at the muted TV across the room, unable to immediately figure out what was showing. It looked like an old movie from the 60's or 70's. "What are we watching?"

She shrugged and handed him the remote. "Nothing bloody, or too loud. And nothing with sex in it." He looked over at her, his eyebrows slightly, inquiringly raised.

She read his confusion and elaborated, "I can't even think about sex right now, not when everything hurts like this."

He released the TV from mute and flipped through the channels until he found a travel show that she liked. They were exploring Napoli. "Oh, I've always wanted to go there. My dad's family is from there."

"Looks like beautiful country," he commented.

"It is. And the food is amazing. Great wine too," she mused. "Hey, where's your family from?" she suddenly asked.

"My mom's family, the MacCreadys are from Scotland. The Roves came out of Ireland, through the Appalachians, into West Virginia. They used to be coal miners. My grandfather was the first one to leave. He came to Maryland to go to school."

"And here you are."

"Yeah. I guess I should be grateful that my granddad was ambitious, huh?"

"Yeah," she smiled at him. "You wouldn't have made a very good coal miner."

He returned her smile. "Feeling any better?"

She nodded. "Well, I'm warm now."

"That's good." He wanted to kiss her, hold her, rub her back. Anything. He just wanted her not to hurt, he wanted that more than anything. But it was more than obvious to him that his power was very limited in this instance. Best that he just be there. Let her dictate what was happening.

"You know, I should get myself on the pill again," she said after a long pause. "Then we might not have to put up with this."

"Jane, I'm not 'putting up' with you. I want to take care of you. You spend all of your time taking care of other people. Let me take care of you for a change, OK?"

She turned her gaze from the TV to Adam. "OK."

"Anyway, what do you mean 'might not'?"

"I tried taking the pill once before, but the side effects were so bad I had to quit."

"Well, then why would you wanna do that again now?" he inquired.

"Maybe they've got something better these days, something I haven't tried," she explained.

He nodded, even though he knew next to nothing about the latest advances in hormonal contraception.

"There are other advantages too, you know," she continued. "I mean, provided we both pass an HIV test."

It took a few seconds to register, but he finally got her meaning. "I'll pass," he assured her.

"I'm sure you will, and I know I will too. But we might as well go the whole nine yards if I'm gonna get back on the pill."

"You've put some thought into this," he concluded, his whole attention now on Joan, the TV long forgotten.

"Yeah, a little," she admitted. "Wouldn't you love not to have to worry about condoms so much?"

"That'd be nice, yeah," he said, trying not to get too caught up in that thought.

"And maybe I wouldn't have these horrible periods." She sighed and just as if on cue, another belly cramp hit.

"Then let's see the doctor," she heard Adam say as she tried not to show her discomfort. She didn't want to get him all worried again.

The cramp passed and she replied, "I'll try to set something up for later next week, l once I'm over this. Can you get a couple of hours off work?"

"Sure."

"Thanks for doing this for me. All of it, I mean."

"You gotta know by now that I'd do anything for you. Even leave you alone if that's what you want." His gaze on her was more intense now.

And she couldn't help but reach over and take his hand. "No, that's not what I want. Not now. Not ever."

He smiled and kissed her hand. Gently, slowly. And Joan found that it didn't bother her one bit.

"Next time I try to chase you away, remind me that you did make me feel better, OK?" she smiled at him.

"You got it," Adam smiled back.

She settled in then, her head resting on the pillow, still holding his hand. And he leaned back too, perfectly content with the idea of sleeping right where he was, on top of the covers, fully dressed, her hand in his.

* * *


	10. Naked

_**Chapter 10**_  
**Naked**

_by Sisterdebmac_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
Joan and Adam receive good news. And then try to figure out what to do with it. Just like another turning point chapter in this story, this one began to come into focus with a song. A very raw, powerful roots-rock love song that's more about being spiritually and emotionally naked with someone than physically. But of course, it's about that too._

**ALTERNATE R-RATED VERSION ALERT!**_ This chapter originally had an alternate ending that includes pure smut, which we took out of the PG version. If you would like to read this chapter in its entirety with the smutty part included, please go to Butterflies: the unadulterated version in the M-rated section._

_**Rated PG**_

_**Genre:**  
Very borderline smutty fluff. Nothing "onscreen"._

_**Disclaimer:**  
They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah._

* * *

_**Naked  
BoDeans **_

_Baby, ask me anything that you want  
And I'll look you in the eye now  
There can be no surprises  
If we mean what we say  
I've been around the block  
And I've done some things  
That I ain't so very proud of  
Darlin' help me leave this cloud of  
Rolling lonely behind_

_Naked  
I'll stand naked  
If you stand naked with me  
I'll stand naked with you_

_In the morning when I look in the mirror  
I look twice at what I'm seeing  
If those eyes are really me then  
Lord, have mercy on my soul  
I'm walking forward but I'm walking alone  
And I need some understanding  
Yeah, we all need some understanding  
And I want you to know_

_My hands are shaking as I reach for your touch  
And all I want to do is hold you  
And I want to lose control  
You are so easy to crave  
The time has come for us to lay it all down  
There can be no more denying  
If I can't have you I'm dying  
A little more every day_

_Naked  
(Take me out from the shadow)  
I'll stand naked  
(Lead me down to the waters)  
If you'll stand naked with me  
(Drown my soul in a sea of love)  
I'll stand naked with you  
(Don't leave me haunted, 'cause)  
Naked  
(I believe in the searching)  
I'll stand naked  
(And I'll find my way through the darkness)  
If you'll stand naked with me  
(There are doors ahead if we see clear)  
I'll stand naked with you  
(They're falling open) _

* * *

The ride home was mostly silent. Nothing was wrong. In fact, everything had turned out very well. The initial visit to the Planned Parenthood clinic had taken a few hours, with all the medical histories they had to take and all the forms that had to be filed out, and then the tests themselves. But three days later, the return trip to get the results was a breeze.

Just as they assumed, both Joan and Adam passed their tests with flying colors and received a clean bill of health. And as it happened, there were all kinds of new birth control medications available. Based on the debilitating side effects Joan had previously experienced, the doctor chose one with very low occurrence of negative reactions. She also said Joan should not hesitate to come back if she had any problems. So they were sent home with a lot of literature to read to help them "make effective decisions concerning their reproductive health".

Their silence was not uncomfortable, just contemplative. They had a lot to think about. A lot of good things. The initial visit to the doctor was mainly about finding a way to end the terrible periods Joan was having. But they were both also undeniably excited about the prospect of giving up the condoms. And contemplating that had a whole lot to do with the silence as they headed for Joan's apartment.

Adam parked the car outside her building, but neither of them moved to get out. "So..." he said, looking at her.

"So...?" she repeated. Somebody was going to have to say something.

"We're clear, huh?" he smiled.

"Yep."

"That feels pretty good."

"Yeah... I asked the doctor when the pill would kick in, and she said right away. I asked what that meant and she said the next day after the first dose... Seems a little too good to be true, doesn't it?"

"Well, I don't know. If the doctor said..." he began but failed to finish.

"Also, we have no idea at this point how my body is going to react to it," she added when he stopped. "I mean, if I have bad side effects and have to stop again, we could be in trouble."

"That's true." He nodded, considering what she had described from her previous experience with the pill. He couldn't bear to think of her suffering any of that again. "So what does that mean?" he asked tentatively.

"Well, I think it means maybe you should go home tonight. We shouldn't take any chances. Let's give it a couple of days and see how I feel, and I also want to be sure it's kicked in."

He was disappointed to be leaving her for the night, but he knew he should. "Of course."

She leaned over to kiss him. That little crestfallen look on his face made her want to hug him, but she didn't. "Thanks for understanding."

He first looked at his hands in his lap, then at Joan. "I'm probably going to hate myself for saying this, but why don't we wait till the weekend, just to be totally safe?"

She felt her jaw drop as she said, "Really?"

"Yeah," he replied firmly, holding his her eyes in his. "How 'bout Saturday?"

He thought he detected something of a pout when she said, "That's almost a week."

"Yeah but that should be plenty of time for us to be sure everything's gonna be OK. I just want us, for once, not to have to worry about any of this stuff."

"God, yes," she said smiling. "That would be wonderful. But... it's a whole week. I don't know if I can get by without you for that long."

"Well, I'm not saying we don't see each other all week. We just have to behave."

"You have pretty high expectations of me, don't you?" she said with a teasing smile. When he reached over and stroked her hair, she turned into his palm, realizing that she was going to miss his touch desperately for the next week.

"You can handle it," he whispered as he smiled at her.

She nodded, trying to believe that. He pulled her to him for a kiss that was not at all chaste. When he broke it she said, "Hey, what are you trying to do to me already?"

He laughed. "Sorry, I just needed something to tide me over and remind me why we're doing this."

* * *

On Thursday night, Joan found herself cleaning things in her apartment that really didn't need cleaning. Television didn't hold her interest. She didn't care much about food. And reading the huge stack of books she had accumulated was out of the question.

When she could take it no more, she reached out for a reminder of her own. She called Adam on his cell. "What are you doing right now?" Her voice was almost husky, she wanted him so much.

"Nothing. I stayed at the office a little late to finish up a few things and now I'm heading home." He walked the last few yards to his car and got in without starting the motor right away.

"Can you come over?"

"Why?" he asked.

"I need a reason? I want to see you."

"Jane..." he sighed, fearing she was going to try to break their agreement.

"What? I'm not going to attack you," she assured him. "I just want to see you."

"OK..." he conceded. "But I need to run by the house first."

"Good. Bring a change of clothes for tomorrow."

"Um, are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked skeptically. She was going to be the death of him yet.

"Adam, we're grown-ups. Don't be silly." She wasn't sure she believed that, but it sounded good.

He felt his stomach rumble, he hadn't had anything since lunch. "Should I pick up something for dinner?" Maybe eating would distract them a little. God, he was already grasping at straws.

"If you wanna eat. I haven't bought groceries lately. Been a little busy."

He went silent for a few seconds, knowing exactly why she had been too busy to shop. They were keeping the takeout business in Arcadia in the black almost single-handedly these days. "Anything special you want?"

"Nah, surprise me."

He showed up an hour later with their favorite Chinese takeout. He almost dropped the bag when she opened her door and immediately moved into his arms.

"Oof," he said, carefully putting the bag down to hold her. She clung to him like her life depended on it.

"Sorry," she sighed against him. "I missed you."

"We saw each other yesterday."

"Yeah, for five minutes at lunch."

"Jane, we spent our whole lunch hour together."

"It felt like five minutes... We have to get through two more days of this?"

He rubbed her back with both hands. "Yeah, but just think about what Saturday could be like. You know, if we stick with the plan and wait."

She almost laughed as she told him, "That's all I _have_ been thinking about." That was no exaggeration. Ever since they made the decision to wait, she couldn't get Saturday out of her head.

"Me too." He had been running scenarios himself.

He entered and Joan closed the door behind them. "So what is the plan for Saturday? Morning or night?"

"I think I wanna be awake for this."

They walked into the kitchen. While Joan got some napkins from one of the cupboards, Adam got the chopsticks out of the drawer and carried the take-out cartons to the table. As usual, they were going to eat right out of the boxes, not bothering with plates and cutlery.

Following him, Joan acknowledged, "Good point... So we wait till Saturday night. What are we gonna do all day, besides go crazy?"

"I don't know, something outside the house that involves lots of people might be a good idea."

"I'm afraid we'd just get all frustrated and then we might rush it. I don't wanna rush it. Not this time."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

Finally sitting down at the table, they both dug into the steaming cartons with their chopsticks, relishing the noodles and meat and vegetables. And then it hit Joan. Lightbulb. She got an idea.

She stopped eating and looked him in the eye. "You know..."

He looked back at her, waiting.

"We could totally go the other way and have a really romantic day together, just the two of us."

He raised both eyebrows, intrigued. "Sure."

"It'd be like... all day foreplay."

"I like the sound of that," he smiled and hoped it wouldn't be too torturous.

* * *

Saturday, after a rather fitful night for both of them, Adam woke up first. They had given up trying to sleep apart. It was just too hard. They were long past the point where sleeping together was only about sex. They just felt better, rested better, in each other's arms. Joan stayed at his house the night before and he decided somewhere around three am that he was going to make breakfast for her before he fell back into a light slumber. A little less than five hours later, he slipped downstairs as quietly as he could and got to it.

The smell of bacon sizzling woke Joan up half an hour later. She looked over at the empty space in the bed beside her and smiled when she understood that her man was downstairs cooking. On her way down the stairs, she made out other delightful smells too. She found him in the kitchen in a t-shirt and jeans, his feet bare and his hair uncombed. He was chopping up melon when she slipped her arms around his waist from behind.

"Morning," he smiled, turning around in her arms. He took hold of her hips and pulled her to him for a kiss.

The contact felt so good, so warm and familiar, and missed. Her hands moved down into his back jeans pockets and she squeezed him as she returned the kiss and the savored the feeling of their bodies together.

"Wow," he said breathlessly when they broke the kiss. "I should make breakfast more often."

"Yeah, maybe you should. Way to get a jump on the all day foreplay."

He laughed softy, then asked her, "Are you hungry?"

"Oh yeah."

"Good. Sit down and I'll bring everything to the table."

She did, watching him with admiration, not only for his cooking skills. "You know, I'm pretty proud of us. We've been very good this week."

"Painfully good," he said as he brought a plate of scrambled cheese eggs to the table.

She laughed and touched his arm as he started to go back to the counter. "Aw, you made cheese eggs for me. That's so sweet."

Next, he laid a plate of bacon strips, cooked extra crispy the way she liked it on the table. She grabbed a piece immediately and bit off half of it. "Mmmmmm. This is perfect." Then, he presented a bowl of chopped fruit and a plate of hot, iced cinnamon rolls.

"You want coffee and juice?"

"Please."

He poured them up for her and for himself and sat down with her. "So what do you wanna do today?"

"I don't care. As long as I'm with you."

"Well, we should probably think about picking up something to make for dinner. Everything I have is in boxes or cans."

"How about I cook you dinner?" she said.

"Cool. It'll be a nice change from all the take-out."

She looked at him quizzically. "You don't like the take-out?"

"No, that's not what I meant. But if we keep this up, I think I'm gonna have to put in extra hours with Brody. I think I've put on a few pounds lately."

She laughed a little. "You used to be so skinny. I like you a little more solid."

His mouth curled into a lopsided smile. "Wait till I get love handles. Then we'll see how you feel."

"Ooh, love handles, huh? Sexy," she teased. "Don't make me come over there."

"All right, now." he held up a hand, jokingly.

Joan laughed at him and sat back in her chair, remembering the conversation at hand. "Oh, you know, there was something I wanted to do this weekend, but I can do it tomorrow if you're not into it."

"Name it," he said, taking a bite of eggs.

"I'd like to go to the antique mall and look for a birthday present for my mom."

"We can do that."

"Are you sure? It's not very romantic."

"I'll be with you, won't I? Besides, it could be fun. Maybe we'll find some things for the house. It still feels kind of empty after all the stuff I got rid of."

She smiled at him. "You could probably go through the shed and find all sorts of cool things to decorate it with."

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But I did most of that stuff so long ago. I'm not sure it's... appropriate, you know, for a grow-up house. Let's just see what we find."

"OK," she agreed.

They tucked in and enjoyed their breakfast.

"You are definitely cooking breakfast more often," Joan said, leaning over the table to kiss Adam when she was finished eating.

"Anything for you."

They did their errands, grabbed a small bite of lunch and got home at a little before four PM. He helped her put away the groceries she bought for dinner. When they were done, he slid his hands around her waist from behind and pressed into her. It was getting late in the day and they were both feeling it. He certainly was. He kissed her neck and held her very close.

Joan's body began to tingle and she was almost forgot all about her promises. But Adam pulled back just in time. And they proceeded with dinner.

She made her father's chicken piccata. It was delicious. After dinner, they did the dishes together. And when they finished, he put his arms round her and dipped her hands back into the wet, soapy water. Stepping behind her again, he threaded their fingers together. She reveled in the slick sensation.

He started kissing her neck again and before long it wasn't enough for him. He turned her around and kissed her deeply, pinning her to the sink. She felt a wet soapy hand slide in between her legs, even through her cotton shorts, and she stopped him.

"Adam," she breathed, then repeated, "Adam."

He just looked at her, confusion in his eyes, on his brow.

"I don't mean to go all McMom on you, but we should probably let our dinner settle first."

"What, are you afraid we might get a cramp?"

She laughed. "Something like that."

He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. "You're getting into this now, aren't you? The whole delayed gratification thing."

"Well, I guess I had a good teacher."

"OK, how 'bout an hour on the couch with an episode of something?" he proposed.

"Oooh, cool."

"Flying Circus?" he suggested.

"Buffy?" she countered.

"Angel." he concluded.

"Of course you pick the broody show," she joked as she went to his DVD rack and he turned on the TV and sat on the couch, kicking his shoes off. "Any particular episode?"

"Something from Season 3. I like that red-haired chick, the slayer wannabe."

"Oh, you do?" Joan said, getting out that set. "She turn you on?"

"You turn me on," he corrected, pointedly.

"Nice dodge, Rove."

"I'm serious. I love strong women, what can I say?"

She stopped scanning the DVDs and looked at him.

"Put in the episode called Loyalty," he said.

"Wow, you remember the title and all. You were really into that show, weren't you?" Joan looked for that episode, located it and put the disc in the machine. "What, does she get naked or something?" She teased as she plopped down on the couch so close to him she was almost in his lap.

"No!" he said, laughing at her. "She's tough, she's not a bimbo."

"Oh yeah, I remember her. She slashes Wesley's throat or something, right?"

"Yep, in the episode right after this one."

Oh Jesus, he even remembered the plot of every single episode? Must be cool to have an eidetic memory. "Nice girl you're crushing on there," she teased him.

"We can't help who we like, can we?" He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. They settled into a comfortable position and started the show. "You like that Orlando Bloom guy."

"Well, yeah," she sighed and leaned against him.

The snuggled together and watched the show and when Adam's woman came on the screen, Joan had to steal a glance at him. There she was—this warrior with flame red hair, in black jeans, black boots, a black tank top and a huge silver belt buckle, wielding a mighty sword. She_was_ pretty spectacular.

"She's kind of bad ass," Joan said when the swordplay was done.

"She's heartbreaking, really. Kind of a tragic character. Vampires killed her twin sister. That's how she gets mixed up in all this."

She looked at him seriously then. "You big softy. Here I was thinking I was discovering something new about you and your tough chick crush. Now I remember, she's all duped by the bad guy and everything."

"Yeah. He uses her. He almost destroys her. But he doesn't quite manage. And she ends up saving Angel's life. Twice."

"I get it. You found the humanity in her. That sounds like the Adam I know."

"And she's _so_ cute."

That made Joan laugh. She rose up to kiss him and he took her face in his hands. He turned the kiss into far more than she intended, only halfway through the show. He turned and leaned back against the arm of the couch and pulled her down with him, still kissing her. His hands slid down her back all the way to her rear. He squeezed her to him. The waiting was over.

Almost. She broke away from him. "Let's go to bed."

* * *

When it was over, his whole face changed. She thought she knew every expression he was capable of. Not this one. He was smiling and yet tears filled his eyes as he said breathlessly, "I love you Jane, oh God, I love you so much."

She held him tight and fought her own sobs. "Baby, I love you too," she said through her own tears, feeling the most overpowering joy either of them had ever known.

She felt his tears mingle with hers as they lay there, heads pressed together on the pillow. She stroked his hair and turned to kiss his face. "I wish we could stay like this forever," she whispered.

"Me too," he said through a small sob that went through her whole body.

Finally, she felt his tears subside and that calmed her down too. Reluctantly, he rolled onto his side, separating their contact. He looked down at her and smiled before he kissed her very softly on the lips.

She brushed his damp cheeks with her thumb and held his gaze. Neither of them had to ask what the tears were for, what the other was feeling. They could see right through each other, read each other's hearts.

They knew.


	11. So Shoot Me

_**Chapter 11**_  
**So Shoot Me**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
This one originated from another scene flash I had somewhere along the way. There's also some projecting involved because... a day trip to the beach? Been there, done that. And loved it. But it doesn't quite turn out as planned for Adam and Joan, as you will see._

_And this chapter is just another example for when you first have an idea in your head and while you write it, it turns into something different than you originally planned. I love it when the characters start talking to you in your head while you're writing, guiding you into directions you didn't see them go before._

Thanks go out once again to Deb for controversial comments and some editing to shift things around a little and make it turn out much better than before. I have never had so much fun writing a story as this one. Keep that up!

_**Rated mostly PG with some R-rated parts for language  
**_

_**Genre:**  
A little of everything, I guess. I hate having to squeeze my fics into categories._

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool._

* * *

This was new. The smell of wonderful seasonings—garlic, rosemary, oregano—mingled with the unmistakable aroma of fresh fish frying in olive oil hit Adam's nostrils as soon as he unlocked the door to his house. He closed the door behind himself and went straight to the kitchen. His eyebrows rose when he realized what was going on.

Joan was bustling around, putting the finishing touches on her table setting. She was using the Roves' good China and cloth napkins. She'd placed a modest but lovely bouquet of flowers on the side. The fish still sizzled over low heat in the frying pan and Joan hummed happily along to a tune on the radio.

He dropped his shoulder bag on the floor, which caught her attention. She suddenly spun around, looking startled for a second before she quickly recovered.

"Oh, you're here already," she said.

He lifted his arms slightly, a smirk on his face. "And you're here too. Shouldn't I be the one who's surprised?"

She smiled at him and they moved into each other's arms for a quick kiss hello. When they separated, he pointed at the table and asked, "So, what's all this?"

With a sly smile on her lips, she answered, "No questions. Sit."

"Can I take my shoes and jacket off first?"

She scrunched up her face. "Jacket, yes. Shoes, nnnyaaaa," she dragged out the vowel teasingly, then quickly gave him permission.

"You trying to say my feet stink?"

She tried to pretend she was busted in that accusation, but laughed instead, "Just kidding. Go ahead."

He laughed with her and left the room, to return after a minute—without shoes and jacket. When he didn't immediately sit down, Joan pointed at the table and repeated in a mock-commanding tone, "You. Over there now. Sit."

"Okay, okay, I'm sitting," he said with a chuckle, taking his usual seat.

As soon as he had planted himself there, she came over with a bowl of garlic butter potatoes, followed by sauce in a gravy boat and the platter of crispy, breaded fish. "I hope you're hungry," she told him as she started to scoop food onto his plate.

"Starving," he honestly said.

"Good," she said triumphantly.

When she had filled both their plates and poured peach iced tea into their glasses, she finally sat down herself and they started eating her delicious dinner.

"How did you have time to do all this?" he asked her. "You usually work later than I do."

"We had a computer glitch at work, the whole network broke down. The tech guys said they can't fix it until tomorrow, so Dale gave us the rest of the afternoon off."

"Oh," he acknowledged. "So you decided to take all that unused energy and pour it into preparing a great big meal at your boyfriend's house." He said it teasingly and before she could utter any wisecrack remark in response, he added, "Notice me not complaining."

"Complain, mister, and this will be the last meal I prepare for you." She stuck her tongue out at him and they both laughed.

There was silence for a few moments as they both ate before Adam asked, "So, what's the occasion? Or isn't there any other than crashed computers and a craving for fried fish?"

Joan grew a bit contemplative. "Actually, there is. You know, I was thinking..."

He interrupted her. "You were _thinking_? Wow, that's new."

She shot him a punishing look. "Yeah, unbelievable as it is, I was _thinking_," she still catered to his snide remark, "how we could really use a bit of a vacation."

"Vacation?" he asked, growing more serious. "I already used up most of my annual leave. I only have, like, four days left." His voice was laced with a hint of denunciation. "I don't have any money for a vacation. You know that."

"No, that's not what I meant," she immediately cut in, explaining, "Not like a big overseas vacation. Just a day on the beach." She read the skepticism in his eyes, so she continued, "Wait, before you say anything, listen to me first, okay?"

He nodded slowly, so she said, "Okay, so I thought we'd just go out there on a Saturday or a Sunday. Take the camper and drive out to Virginia Beach early, so that we're there in the late morning. Have a cozy breakfast somewhere, go to the beach, hang out, sunbathe, go swimming. We'd drive back that same night, we don't even need a hotel room or anything. It'll take three or four hours to get there, but it's doable. It would be fun. What do you think?"

She could almost see him pondering the idea, letting it sink in. At first he didn't look too happy, but then his face began to light up as he thought about it. A trip to the beach with Joan. How could he say no to that? "You know... yeah. Yeah, why not?" he finally said.

She let out a quick squeal, got up from her chair and leaned over to plant a kiss on his forehead. "I knew you'd like it!"

He smiled at her as she sat back down and started digging into the fruit salad mixture she had quickly whipped up from what she had found in his refrigerator. He asked her, "Okay, so when do you think we should do this?"

"Hm, let's see. Next weekend is already busy, so how about the Saturday after that? Provided the weather stays this nice."

He thought for a moment. "Yeah, I think that could work. Oh God. I'll have to clean out the camper first. There's this whole pile of junk still in the back."

"Well, you have almost two weeks to work on that."

"Yeah," he acknowledged. He already pictured the two of them lying on beach towels, admiring her curved body, clad only in a colorful bikini. Oh yes, this would be a fun trip. Definitely.

* * *

"Oh, dammit, you friggin' piece 'o shit!" It poured from Adam's mouth in utter frustration. It was Saturday morning, the camper was all packed and he sat in the driver's seat and turned the key for the umpteenth time. The motor made a few gurgling attempts at starting up, but then died quickly, just like the five or six times it had before.

"Crap!" he hit the steering wheel with his hand, then dug out his cell phone to call Joan. He was already late. He said he would pick her up over half an hour ago, but packing everything into the camper had taken longer than he'd anticipated.

"Hey, you on the way?" she answered the phone without even greeting him.

"No," he said, his voice still dripping with frustration.

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean the freaking camper won't start. Something's wrong, maybe the battery."

"_Oh_ no," she said almost threateningly. "No no no no no, don't tell me the camper's on the fritz. That is so not happening," she said to Adam, as if he had done this on purpose.

"It's happening. Unfortunately. Listen, maybe not all is lost, okay? Let me see if I can get it running. Just wait for me."

"Doesn't look like I have a choice, what with my car being in the shop," she reminded him pointedly.

"Okay, I'll call you in a few. Bye."

"Bye." He hung up.

With a sigh, he opened the release for the hood, got out of the camper and looked inside the engine compartment. He didn't know that much about cars, but he knew enough to figure out the basic stuff. Most likely the battery was dead from disuse. He could just jump it off from his car. That should be good enough to get them going for the day. He could pick up a new battery later.

Three quarters of an hour later, Adam's hands and arms covered in grit and grease, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. For a second he looked around helplessly for something to wipe his fingers on. When he didn't find anything, he carefully reached into his pocket and took the cell out with two fingers, answering the call.

"Hey, what's going on? I already called you twice," Joan's slightly irritated voice greeted him. She had? He must not have noticed.

"Oh man," he sighed. "I don't think it's the battery. I tried to jump it off but it still won't fire up. Could be the starter. If that's the case, it's not going anywhere today."

"Adam, you weren't supposed to go car mechanic on me. Why didn't you just take the bloody car?"

"I know. Sorry. I thought I could get it running in a few minutes."

"It's been almost an hour."

"It has?" He wasn't wearing his watch. He had no idea it had been that long. He trudged toward the house to wash his hands. "I'll move all our gear over to the car and head your way now. Just let me get cleaned up, I'm up to my shoulders in black grease and stuff. Give me half an hour, okay?"

"Great," Joan said sarcastically. "It's already so late. We should have been underway at least two hours ago. Why did you only notice today that the camper's not working anyway?" she asked, not even trying to keep the accusation from her voice.

"I just used it two weekends ago to haul some junk to the dump. It was working fine then," he said with a defensive undertone.

"Well, you still should've tested it. I mean, look at the time. It's too late now. We wouldn't get there before one o'clock, so there's no way we could get back in town for that stupid dinner party at your boss's house. So I guess we just blow the whole thing off," she said disappointedly.

"No," he said. "We planned this. We should still go. The weather's perfect," he looked up at the sun already high in the blue sky. "We could go to a closer beach, like Chesapeake. Come on, Jane," he urged her gently. "It can still totally be fun."

"Well, they said it was gonna start raining later today, and the roads are gonna be all busy and we'll get stuck in traffic, and there won't be any good spots left at Chesapeake and... I guess it just wasn't meant to be." Joan said dejectedly. "Not today anyway."

Adam was silent for a moment, then said in a lower voice, "Yeah, but I really wanted to go. This sounded great. I'd hate for it to not happen." He lingered on the front porch of his house and sat down on the wooden step.

"Well, then maybe you should have checked the camper for road-worthiness a little earlier," she snapped.

Her tone took him aback for a second, but he responded quickly and almost as snappishly, "Okay, yeah, I should have. But I didn't. So shoot me! It's not like I did this on purpose, you know."

"You know what? Let's just not do this. I'm gonna call Lydia and go frustration shopping or something. We'll talk later. Thank you for a fucked up Saturday." She was spitting bile now, and she just hung up.

He sat there for a minute, stunned, the phone in his dirty hand. He wanted to throw it across the yard. He pulled his arm back and made a mocking gesture of that act out of pure frustration, but he held onto the phone. He got up and laid it on the outside window sill maybe a bit more forcefully than he should have and went inside to clean himself up.

* * *

It took Adam another 45 minutes to scrub the grease off his arms, change into clean clothes and move everything from the camper to his car. The back seat area was a bit of a mess. He sometimes just carelessly threw stuff back there, like empty plastic soda bottles or his gym bag for badminton. Clearly, the car was not prepared for anything other than his normal routine. But he'd make it work.

He could still make this up to Joan. He knew he had to. Maybe they didn't need to go all the way to the beach to hang out and have a relaxing day. He'd figure out something else. He'd pack up the car and they'd just go somewhere else.

He hated it when she was mad at him. Not that she had really been, ever since they found each other again almost two months ago. Yeah, he could make it up to her. He had to try at any rate.

He hadn't tried to call her again. He wanted to go see her in person and apologize. And take her to... where exactly? Not to the beach. It was indeed obviously too late for such a long drive to the seashore. He racked his brain, trying to think of something they could do closer to home. Before long, he remembered the lake where his parents had taken him as a kid. A quick look at the map in his dashboard revealed it to be Lake Forrester, just ten miles outside of Arcadia. That was where he would take Joan.

Standing in front of her apartment building, he rang her doorbell and waited for her to answer. But even after the second ring, nothing happened. "Come on, Jane," he muttered. "Let me in." But she didn't. He sighed and went back to the car. It seemed that she had made good on her plans to go frustration shopping with her friend. Or had gone somewhere else entirely. Now what?

He got his cell out of his pocket and dialed her cell number. The phone rang a couple of times, then he heard the busy signal. Had she just dumped his call? Opening the driver's side car door, he got in and started typing a text message. _Jane, please answer. I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you. Please. I love you. _He hit the 'send' button and a little envelope with wings that fluttered over the color display showed him that the message was being sent.

He waited a minute or two to give her the chance to read the message, then he called her again. This time, she picked up after three rings.

"Adam..." she sighed, but her tone was carefully neutral.

"Yeah," he answered, then paused. "Where are you?"

"At the bus stop?" she said almost defensively.

"Please let me pick you up. I'm at your apartment. What bus stop are you at?"

"I don't think I'm in the mood. I'm on my way to the mall. Maybe we just shouldn't see each other today." He went silent for a long moment, long enough for her to ask, "You still there?"

"Yeah," he said disappointedly. "Jane," he added pleadingly. "I'm sorry about the camper. Please don't be mad at me. I really wanna make it up to you. We can still take a trip today and have some fun. Not at the beach, but I already have something else in mind. Please."

She thought for a moment. That deep, pleading voice of his was enough to make her cave in. She couldn't help seeing in front of her mind's eye the shattered young man she found standing at her door the day of his father's passing. She couldn't stand thinking she'd hurt him with her anger. She asked quietly, "Something else? Like what?"

"Let me surprise you. I think you'll like it, even though it may not be the beach."

Finally, she agreed. "I'm at the bus stop round the corner. Carnegie Street. You know where?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll be there in a minute."

He found her standing next to the bus stop post and brought the car to a halt, so she could get in. She greeted him, "There you are."

"Yeah, here I am." He looked over at her, trying to read her mood. "Look, I'm sorry about the camper. You're right, I should have checked it out before today. I didn't mean to ruin the day."

Joan looked into his eyes that were inquisitively on her, waiting to be forgiven or spat at or ignored or whatever else she had in store for him. She drew in a quick breath and said accommodatingly, "I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed, but we can do the beach some other time, right? It's not the end of the world. I know you didn't mean to ruin anything. Let's just forget about it, okay?"

She could see the relief wash over his face, however briefly. "Okay," he readily agreed. He suddenly noticed a bus approaching from behind in the rear view mirror. "Hang on," he said as he pulled the car away from the curb.

"So, where are we going, then?" she asked.

"Back to your place first, I think you need to pick up a few things if we're gonna make this work."

"Pick up some things? Like what?"

"Like whatever you had prepared for the beach trip. Unless you unpacked all of it already. Or threw it away in a fit of rage at your pathetically incapable boyfriend."

That elicited a small smile from her. "Nah, my boyfriend is not pathetically incapable. He's just... a little impractical sometimes."

"Impractical, huh? Why would you be with a guy like that?"

She smirked at him. "You know, I honestly don't know. Maybe because he can be really great and sweet and loving. When he isn't being an idiot."

Adam parked in front of Joan's apartment building again. "Then get your stuff and let this idiot take you to a place that will hopefully be almost as nice as the beach."

"So, should I bring the food and drinks too? Just what kind of place are we talking about here?"

"Let's just say the word 'lake'," he told her. "Should I come up with you and help you carry?"

She nodded. "Yeah, if we're taking the food and drinks, then maybe I need a pair of strong arms to help me with that."

"Something physical that requires no brain power, I think I can handle that." He followed her inside to get her bag and the picnic-style food and drinks that she had prepared.

* * *

Half an hour later, they pulled into a gravel parking lot that was surrounded by trees and shrubs. Joan got out of the car and looked at the sign that stood opposite Adam's car.

"Lake Forrester, huh? I've never been here, but I think Grace mentioned something about you guys coming up here on an elementary school trip once."

He narrowed his eyes for a second as he gazed over the roof of the car at her. "Oh God, yes. Totally forgot about that. They brought us out here once. There was this old summer camp with docks to fish from and canoes and stuff that some of the schools used for day trips. Wow. I don't even know if it's still here. I haven't been here since I was a kid."

"So, what's the plan? I assume you have one?" she inquired.

"Oh, uhm... well... My first suggestion would be to just take a look around. There is a bit of shoreline where we used to go swimming as kids. And there's also lots of trails to take walks and stuff. I don't know. It's not like I had a lot of time to stake out the area. What do you feel like doing?"

"Taking a walk sounds nice. We could go to sit down by the lake for a picnic later. Maybe take a swim, too. You know, if the water's not too icky."

"Sounds perfect," he told her as he got his backpack out of the trunk. "Hey, you wanna pack anything in here? Your wallet, something to drink?"

Joan handed him a few items that he put in his backpack, so that she wouldn't have to carry anything. He closed the trunk and locked the car. She had already started towards the trail that led into the woods and he just stood for a moment, admiring her in her colorful light cotton skirt and yellow camisole. She looked like summer itself, all vibrant and joyful. It was such a wonderful change from just a short time earlier, when he was worried that she might be mad at him for a while.

She turned to him and noticed how he wasn't moving. She called out to him, "Hey, you coming?"

He snapped out of his short-lived reverie and answered, "Yeah," walking over to meet her where she was waiting for him. They walked in silence for a while until he felt Joan's hand reaching for his. He readily offered it to her and she threaded her fingers through his. He looked over at her. "So I take it I'm forgiven?"

"What makes you think that?" she teased him with a smile.

"Oh, I don't know. Guess it comes with being an impractical idiot."

"A lovable impractical idiot," she added, then stopped walking. She drew him closer, slung one arm around his waist and kissed him. He readily let her, kissing her back, softly and lovingly.

When she drew back, she said, "To answer your question: Yes, you're forgiven."

"I'll have the camper checked out next week. We'll go to the beach this summer, I promise."

She smiled at him sweetly. "Okay, deal. But this isn't so bad either, so don't worry."

They continued walking along the forest path, their fingers still intertwined. She looked around her, up the trees that towered overhead and then at the few cones that littered the ground, musing, "You know, they taught us all this stuff in school, like how you can distinguish the trees from each other and everything, but I've totally forgotten all of it."

Adam released his loose grip from her hand for a moment and bent down to pick up a cone from the ground. "Well, this one belongs to a pine. Probably knocked loose by the wind or a rainstorm or a squirrel. They usually don't drop before the fall." He walked over to a small shrub-like plant along the path, pointing at the leaves. "This is hazel. You can recognize it by its round and corrugated leaves with the pointed tip. And of course you can also recognize it, once it grows hazelnuts." He went over to the next tree, a few yards further on. "And this is an elm. See the asymmetric leaf node? That's typical for an elm."

She listened to him, stunned. When she found her voice, she said, "Wow. I didn't know you were so well-versed in botany. You surprise me every day."

"Photographic memory comes in really handy sometimes." He smiled at her. "You know, my mom used to teach me all these things. She was so incredibly talented and knowledgeable about everything that had to do with flowers and plants. She used to have this great garden in the back yard with all these colorful flowers. She even had a little herb in the kitchen window garden. Dad and I could never bring ourselves to keep that up."

She picked up a vaguely heart-shaped leaf from the ground and showed it to him, "Okay, so what's this, then?"

He took it from her, turning it around in his hand. "You know, I'm not sure. It's not like I studied this stuff at college. My mom could have even told you the Latin name. I think I've got a black thumb."

"Aw, come on. Compared to me, you're a fountain of information. And you've got plants in your house. Actual green, living plants. You must be doing something right."

"Anyone can water a house plant, Jane. Nah, I wish I'd inherited more of those MacCready genes. My Great-Great-Great-Grandfather used to run a farm up in Scotland," he told her as they kept walking deeper into the forest.

"Have you ever been? To Scotland, I mean?"

"You're kidding, right?"

She shrugged.

"No. I've never been out of the country. Never had the money. But I'd love to go... someday. Dad used to love to show me pictures of the trip he and Mom took for their honeymoon. Mom's parents gave them one of those ancestral journeys as a wedding present. They traced the MacCready's path through the Highlands and then went over to Ireland to do the same for the Rove family. The pictures are amazing. I can't even imagine what it would be like to see all that in person."

"You didn't throw those pictures out when you cleaned house, did you?" Joan asked him.

"What? No. No, I'd never throw away photos of my parents, especially not now. They're all I have to remember them by."

Joan looked at Adam and drew closer, putting her arm through his. She was always a little surprised when he talked freely about his family. It always seemed so painful for him to do so when they were teens. She knew the pain of losing them must still be raw beneath the surface, but maybe he finally understood that it could do a world of good to talk about it. She was happy to let him, offering her support, and a sympathetic, even fascinated ear. How could she have been so mad at him earlier that she was ready to not talk to him again for at least a few days?

He drew her just a little closer, walking hip to hip with her and said in a soft voice, "I wish you could have met my mom. She would have liked you."

She stroked his arm. "Yeah, I wish that too. You know, she would have been proud of you. I mean, she _is_ proud of you. Your dad too. Up there... somewhere... wherever they are."

Adam went silent. She could feel the melancholy slipping in on him again. "Hey," she began carefully, "can I ask you something?"

He looked at her. "Anything."

"Do you believe in God?"

His face fell suddenly. He hadn't expected that. It was all he could do to stammer, "Um, that's... I..."

She disentangled her arm from his and moved away ever so slightly. "What?" she said, startled. "Should I not have asked that question?"

He tried to placate her, "No, it's okay. It's just... I'm not really into all that. You know, religion or whatever. It never made much sense to me," he tried to evade explaining his doubts. "Does it really matter?"

"No, it doesn't matter," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "You have free will. You can believe whatever you wanna believe."

"Well, I'm not saying I'm an atheist. I just don't know how to answer that question. But, you know, when I think about my parents, it's comforting to think that there's someone out there who takes care of them now. That they're in a place where there's no evil, where they're protected and sheltered."

"Oh Adam," Joan said in a truly compassionate voice. "I'm absolutely sure they're in a good place. And you know they are too. You talk to angels, remember?"

"Boy, that was such a long time ago. Not sure I still do. That was a totally different me."

"Of course you still do. You always will. That's what I love about you. And that's what your mom and dad love about you."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, maybe so."

"Hey," she said, trying to sound a little more cheerful. "How about we resurrect that garden of your mom's in your back yard? I know this nice garden and flower store out in Charleston and I'd be willing to help. My colleague Ellen is a total gardening nut. She'll have tons of tips and hints. Don't you think that would be nice?"

He smiled a little. "Yeah, I'd like that. And my mom would totally—ouch!" he yelped suddenly, then his right hand went to his left upper arm. When it came away, there was blood on his hand. "What the..." His face contracted in pain expression.

"Oh my God, Adam!" Joan exclaimed, moving to his left side. "What happened?"

"I don't know. Feels like somebody fucking shot me."

"What? Here, let me see." She examined his arm when he took his hand away. There was a small hole at the back of his upper arm and it was bleeding freely, if not dangerously.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"I don't know. I'm not a doctor," she said. "It's a small hole and it's bleeding."

When she touched it to try to feel if there was maybe a bullet or other object inside, he flinched. "Ow! Joan! That hurts!"

"Don't call me that! I didn't mean to hurt you. Adam, we should get you to a hospital. This needs to be checked out. If there's a bullet or something inside, they need to remove it. I mean, what was that? Wouldn't we have heard a gunshot?"

"Not if it was an air gun," he said as she still fumbled with his arm.

"So who did it?" She looked around, but couldn't see anyone.

"Probably just some kids shooting at cans. These things don't have a very long range," he said, looking around. "Hey, asshole! You shot somebody! Put the fucking gun away and take off or I'm calling the cops!"

"Adam, come on, we should be getting out of here, too."

He shushed her with a finger to his lips and listened. He thought he heard a couple of muffled voices and some rustling. She cocked her head and picked up running footsteps of more than one person. They both breathed a sigh of relief.

"We should call the police anyway. What if they come out here and do it again?"

He just stared angrily in the direction the culprits seemed to have taken when they fled.

"What if they'd hit you somewhere else?" Joan prodded. "Like an eye?"

"Maybe I scared the little shits out of doing it again," he said bitterly, pulling his arm around, trying to get a look at his injury. "Besides, we didn't see them. Who do we say to look for?"

"You're right," she finally relented. "We need to bandage this. It's still bleeding. Can you take off the backpack?"

With some difficulty, Adam wrestled it off his back and Joan rummaged around in it. "Here," she produced a long-sleeved simple cotton top that she had packed and started to wrap it around his upper arm, applying pressure on it by tying the two sleeves tightly around his arm.

He winced, but Joan wisely didn't say anything about taking him for a wuss. It probably did hurt quite a bit.

"You okay with this?" she asked him.

"Yeah, it should be all right."

"Okay," she said and shouldered the backpack, turning back towards the parking lot.

"Give me the keys," she said, once they arrived back at his car. He told her they were in the front pouch of the backpack and she got into the driver's seat after she tossed the backpack into the trunk. She helped him fasten his seat belt when it became apparent from his awkward fumblings with the buckle that he couldn't do it himself with only his right hand.

There was some discussion on the way which hospital they should go to, but in the end they decided to go to Mercy. Admitting Adam to the emergency room was a tedious process involving lots of paperwork. She told him sarcastically, "You'd think they'd treat your injuries first but all they care about is the stupid forms."

After letting them wait another half hour, they finally took Adam to an exam room. Joan wasn't so good with the patience part. As they waited in the exam room now, she paced and offered to go get coffee for both of them. He declined. She planted herself in a chair by the bed and grumbled something under her breath.

"Would you rather hang out in the waiting room? I'm a big boy. I'll be fine here by myself."

She protested that she'd rather wait with him, but he could tell she was really antsy so he insisted that she take a walk, hit the vending machines. He promised to have someone come find her as soon as the doctor was done with him.

About an hour later, he appeared in the waiting room to meet her with a starkly white bandage around his upper arm and a small plastic container the shape and size of a pill bottle in his hand. He showed it to her, explaining, "We were right. Looks like a pellet from an airgun."

"So, you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." He lifted his left arm a little. "Well, this is supposed to stay on for a couple of days and I'll have to go see my primary physician for a follow-up. But I'm good to go for now."

She sidled up to him and stood opposite. She took his right hand and leaned in for a brief kiss. "Oh, my brave knight. I'm glad you're okay," she told him lovingly before she pulled back.

"Oh, uhm..." he awkwardly handed her cotton top, now smeared with blood, back to her. "Sorry about this."

She took it from him. "Don't worry about it. If it doesn't wash out, I'll trash it. No big deal. What's important is that you're okay." She looked at him again, her gaze wandering to his now empty hands. "No meds?" she asked.

"Nah. They said it might hurt for a while, and they did offer me a prescription, but I don't think I need it."

"You _are_ an idiot," she told him affectionately. "There are times to be tough, but when it comes to being in pain, that's not one of them. Believe me. Wisdom tooth," she pointed at her cheek. "The worst week of my life. I grew to love codeine. You sure you don't wanna go back for that prescription?"

"No, I think I've got some Advil at home. I'll be okay."

"Your call," she told him. "Let's get you home."

"There's only one appropriate response for that," he told her with a smirk on his face.

"And that would be?"

"Unchallenged."

* * *

It was already 4 PM by the time Adam and Joan left the hospital and made it back to his car.

"Are we going to my place?" her asked once she pulled out of the parking lot.

"Yeah, I think that would be best. What about the dinner party? Are you still gonna go?"

"Oh God, the party. Totally forgot about that. I don't know. Guess I should cancel it."

"Will your boss be okay with you canceling?" she asked. "Didn't you say it was important that you be there? Not that I think you should go. I think you should stay home. You've had enough excitement for one day."

"Well, he's not gonna be happy, I can tell you that, but I think he'll understand. I'm not gonna lose my job or anything. He's actually a pretty laid back guy. It'll be all right."

"Hey, we still have all the food in the car. And to be honest, I'm starving. How does a picnic in your back yard sound? Or would you rather I went home?" she stole a glance at him as she asked the question, trying to assess his mood after all he'd been through.

"Picnic sounds great. I'm starving too." He smiled slyly. "Besides, I lost a lot of blood. I'm weak and I'm hurting. I need someone to nurse me." He extended his lower lip in a pout.

She laughed. "Oh no. I can totally see through your scam to guilt me into being your personal slave. No way."

He gave her a mocking whine, "Aw, Jane. You're so cruel. I can hardly move, it hurts so much." He held his arm with his hand again to underline his statement, scrunching up his face into a completely exaggerated pained grimace.

"Oh, shut up, you wuss. All right, all right. I'll be your personal slave."

"Mmmmmm, I like the sound of that," he grinned, wiggling an eyebrow at her.

"Mind out of the gutter, please!" she teased. "And this is just for the day. You're on your own tomorrow."

"You drive a hard bargain," he said with a smile on his face.

"Well, I can't be spoiling you too much. Gotta take what you get. Not sure you deserve it either."

She meant it as a joke, but his voice went serious when he said, "I don't deserve you, that's a fact. But I got you anyway. Guess I should be more grateful for that."

She grew serious now too. "What do you mean, you don't deserve me?"

"I don't know. I mean, look at me. What have I ever done to deserve your love?"

"Adam, don't say that. Please don't say that," Joan said determinedly. She knew he'd always had a little problem with self-esteem, but she thought that recent years had changed that for the better. He certainly seemed like a more outgoing and confident man. "Look, we all have our shortcomings, but you are a great guy. So don't you ever let me hear you say that you don't deserve me again. Because you do."

He was quiet for a moment, then he said in a low voice, "It's just that around the time my dad died, things weren't going so well. We had a big screw-up at work that lost us a client. A friend of mine almost lost his job over it. Then my cousin Craig had to go into the hospital for emergency surgery, Grace called me in a panic because Caesar was really sick, and then, just when Craig got better and Caesar turned out to only have a bad ear infection, my dad died. It was all a little too much. And then _we_ found each other and things have been going so perfectly since. I'm just kinda expecting the rug to be pulled out from under me, you know?" Adam said dispiritedly just as Joan pulled into his driveway.

She shut off the motor and turned in her seat, so that she was facing Adam. "Life is like that sometimes. You get your good spells and you get your bad spells. That's still no reason to say you can't be happy or don't deserve to be happy. You know, you just clench your teeth and make it through the bad spells as best as possible, and then you smile and enjoy the good spells while you can."

"I know..." he sighed gloomily, unconvinced.

"Hey, you won't let me worry about these things when I get in my moods. And I'm not going to let you either. We can't live our lives looking over our shoulders, can we? That'd just make us paranoid and miserable in the end."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he admitted.

She smiled a little. "Of course I'm right. Now give me a kiss and let's forget all this stuff and enjoy the rest of the day. You think we can do that?"

He leaned in, saying, "Yeah, we can do that. Or at least try," before their lips met for a long, tender kiss.

"Okay, then let's get this party started," Joan said after they pulled apart, getting out of the car and carrying the items from the trunk into the house. Adam offered to help, but she shooed him away. "Go inside and don't move. I'm your slave, remember?"

He just resigned to her energetic determination and went inside, but he couldn't simply sit by idly, so he started putting out dishes to be carried outside, preparing little things here and there.

They placed a blanket on the patchy back lawn and had it set up with the food and dishes and other essentials in no time. They had a neat little picnic going by the time he went back inside to call his boss and say he couldn't make it to the dinner party.

Eating pasta salad and sausages, sipping glasses of soda pop, Adam looked at Joan and said in between bites, "Jane, I'm sorry this day turned out to be such a cluster fuck."

She looked back at him. "Don't be silly. This is great. I mean, yeah, a trip to the beach would have been nice. And the trip to Lake Forrester could also have gone better, but hey, at least, it has been interesting."

"Yeah, but I didn't want this day to be _interesting_. Especially not _this_ kind of interesting." He pointed at his bandaged bicep. "I wanted this day to be special. I know you were really looking forward to it ever since you suggested the trip to the beach."

"Adam, we can go to the beach another time. And I will be looking forward to it just as much then. Let's call it over and done with, okay? No regrets. Well, except for that almost fatal wound of yours. That, I could've totally done without."

"Look at it this way," he said as he finished his last bite of sausage,"it's gonna be a great story to tell the grandkids: 'You wanna hear how your grandpa got shot in the woods?'" He made his voice sound deeper and very storyteller-like. "'There was this man with a huuuuge gun, and he came upon your grandfather and—POOF!—next thing I knew, I had a bullet in my arm!'"

He laughed softly to himself, but when he looked at Joan, she seemed completely lost in thought. He studied her for a minute before he said, "Hello? Earth to planet Girardi."

Joan snapped out of it and asked Adam bluntly, "So you wanna have kids?"

Adam suddenly froze. He hadn't quite meant it that way. Had he? Yeah, sure, he had always imagined he would have a wife and children one day. He just never really imagined it would be Joan. At least not after high school. He answered cautiously, "Yeah, I guess I do. One day. I mean, it's a little too soon for us to be having this conversation seriously, isn't it? Why—don't you wanna have kids?"

She met his eyes and she could see it there so clearly, the intense inquisitiveness, but also the subdued expectation of being disappointed by whatever was going to be said or done. "You know, I haven't really thought about it. No, that's not true, I have. And, yes, I can picture myself as a mother. Like you said, one day. But we're only 22. I don't think I'm ready to be a parent just yet."

"And no one's asking you to. We've got lots of time." He reached his right hand over to where she sat and she took it and moved closer to him. Pushing away some of the picnic remains, she laid down on her back with her head in his lap. His hand moved to her temple to play with her hair there. He studied her face lovingly, lavishly. "You're so beautiful," he whispered as he started tracing her jaw with his finger until it reached her mouth.

Joan's mouth opened to tease his finger with her tongue and then she took it into her mouth to softly bite it first and then envelop it with her lips. It tasted salty on her tongue. She watched him sigh. When she let go and he removed his finger, she said throatily, "Get down here and kiss me. Now."

He obediently moved his head downwards and she lifted her torso until their lips met for a deep, intimate kiss. Finally, she pulled away and laid her head back in his lap. His hand had miraculously found that her camisole had ridden up a little, exposing a patch of naked skin around her belly button. He started moving his fingernails and the back of his hand gently over the exposed area and she sighed with pleasure. He took that as a cue to push up her top a little so he could caress more of her naked skin.

A low moan escaped her then. "Keep that up and I'm no longer gonna be responsible for my actions."

He smiled at her. "See me not objecting."

"You're injured. It wouldn't be fair."

"Fair to whom?" he asked.

She laughed. "To you, of course. I don't want you to hurt."

"Oh, I think the endorphins will take care of that."

She grew serious again. "No, really. I don't think we should press our luck today. Bad things come in threes, remember? In the end birth control will fail or something."

"Well, that wouldn't exactly be a tragedy, would it?" he remarked.

She was silent for a moment before she said, "Not a tragedy, no, but like I said, now is not the time. And I'm done taking risks for today. Right now, I'm totally content, just lying here with you for a while. Let's just keep this tonight as innocuous as we can. Because there is such a thing as fate, I'm sure of that."

"Okay," he agreed. "I'm not keen on tempting fate either. Are you gonna stay over?"

"Do I still have clean underwear here?" she asked, referring to the few items of clothing she was keeping at his house. It had become necessary for them keep the basics at both of their homes, for situations just like this.

"I did a ton of laundry the other day. I think I saw a few pairs of your panties and at least one bra in there."

"Oh, that's neat. I got myself a capable man who isn't afraid of chores. Did you leave the bra in the bag?"

His forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Bag?"

"Yeah, it was in this little zipper bag."

"Oh, yeah. I didn't know what that was so I took it out and put it in with the regular wash."

"Uh oh," she said.

"It came out fine."

"Good. But just for future reference, you're supposed to leave the bra inside the bag when you wash it, so that if the under-wire comes out for some reason, it doesn't get stuck inside the washing machine and ruin everything," Joan explained.

"Oh wow," Adam said, amazed. "I just keep learning all these things about women that I never knew before. And I keep thinking that ignorance can be bliss. I already know way more about your period than I ever wanted to know."

"Well, you'll have to live with that. It's what happens when you get serious with a woman. No way around it. You get the whole package—or nothing. And just wait till you've seen my full spectrum when I'm on the rag. I can get anything from moody to whiny to horny."

"Oh, you make it sound so attractive. I'm already looking forward to your next period."

"Hey, you're in luck," she beamed up at him, "only about a week to go."

He groaned. "Thank you. That's information that I didn't really need."

She stuck out her tongue at him and he started tickling her side with his fingers. She started to giggle and wriggle in his lap. When he didn't stop, she sat up, giving him a good natured punch in the ribs.

"Ooff," he said, holding his ribs. "Careful, I'm injured. Remember?"

"Oh, _now_ you're complaining. A minute ago you weren't so opposed to physical activity."

"That's different," he smirked.

"Oh yeah," she said knowingly, then started sorting some of the dishes from the picnic. "We should clean this up. Maybe we can watch a DVD later. Or just hang out here in the garden. Or on the couch. Whatever you're up for."

"As long as it's innocuous," he agreed, "and doesn't involve any other kind of physical activity, you know, apart from sex, I'm open for anything."

"Oh, you are such a naughty boy," she playfully scolded him, then stood up and held out a hand to pull him up. And as he stood, he drew her close and planted another kiss on her lips that both of them deepened without hesitation, without question.

"So I guess I'll stay the night, to answer your question from before," Joan said when they separated. "But don't get any ideas."

"I think I can keep myself in check for one night."

"Good," she triumphantly said as she started picking up dishes and bowls. "Come help me with this. If you're not too much of an invalid."

"Okay," he answered and picked up a few items. Together they carried them inside, both looking forward to a quiet, hopefully excitement-free evening. Adam and Joan were not going to be easy targets. Fate would just have to seek out someone else that night.

* * *


	12. Exposed

_**Chapter 12**_  
**Exposed**

_by TeeJay and Sisterdebmac_

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**TeeJay's Author's Notes:**  
_Here's another big cheer for scene flashes. Because, yes, I had another one that developed into what you can read in this chapter: Joan and the window at night and Adam's sketchbook on the window sill. You'll figure it out when you get there. But what this chapter led to was completely surprising to me myself. And interestingly, I've written this scenario a few times for other stories, but never like this. And that's the beauty of this whole story, Butterflies. It can and does take me by surprise a lot and very often. And that's amazing._

_The basics of this chapter were set up by me, but Deb did a lot of editing and improving and rewriting in it. That's why I feel it should be from the both of us. You go, girl!_

_**Synopsis:**Joan and Adam have a long-overdue conversation about a very important subject._

_**Rated PG**_

_**Genre:** Romance/Angst_

_**Disclaimer:** These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool._

* * *

Adam had never been a sound sleeper, not for as long as could remember. Sometimes he'd awaken from a sound inside or outside the house, sometimes from a dream or nightmare. What made him drift from sleep to wakefulness this time, he didn't know. His hand subconsciously felt for her body next to him, but found... nothing. Nothing but a cold pillow and crumpled sheets. Funny how he was now taking her presence in bed with him for granted.

He groggily rolled over and sat up, putting on the pair of boxers and t-shirt that still lay next to his bed. On bare feet, he padded downstairs to see if he could find Joan.

She was standing by the window in the living room, her back turned to him. He wasn't sure whether she'd heard him come in. If she had, she wasn't giving any indication of it. He approached her from behind and gently wrapped his arms around her waist and belly.

He could feel her instantly relax, leaning back into him. "What are you doing up?" he whispered into her ear.

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. I didn't wanna wake you, tossing and turning," she whispered back.

He started swaying slightly from side to side, rocking her like a child—and it made Joan feel warmly protected and at home in his arms.

"Bad dream?" he asked her, his voice both compassionate and understanding.

He knew what he was talking about, she guessed. There were many demons in his past that probably still sought him out at night. She shook her head against his collarbone. "No, not really."

They just stood in silence for a few minutes, both looking out onto the front yard, now dark. Some of the light from the streetlights reflected on the gleaming metal and glass shards of the sculptures that still stood or hung there.

As Adam drew closer to her yet, placing his chin onto her right shoulder, he spotted something on the window sill, something so enchantingly familiar. It was his sketchbook, open so that it depicted one of his recent pencil drawings of her—of Joan. For a split second, he felt exposed, naked. He considered his sketchbook to be more or less what a diary was to other people. Often it was his way of capturing his thoughts, his feelings, dealing with them as he put them down on paper.

"Snooping around, were we?" He tried to sound casual and harmlessly teasing, but maybe it hadn't come out quite that way.

"What?" she asked, but then her gaze also fell upon the sketchbook. "Oh God," she muttered, turning around to face him. "Adam, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

But he just placed his finger on her mouth, shushing her softly. "Hey, don't worry. It's okay. There's nothing in there that I wouldn't want you to see."

For reasons he couldn't immediately discern, he saw her eyes suddenly glistening with tears. He silently studied her as she said, "Is that really how you see me?"

He knew she meant the drawings, the sketches. "Yes, that's how I see you," he confirmed gently.

Her voice was thick with emotion. "Adam, they're so beautiful. Sometimes I feel like I can't live up to them."

He drew back a notch. "Why would you say that?"

"I... I don't know. It's like, they're so reverent, you know. Like you put me on some kind of pedestal... I mean, this is all so... perfect, and I know I really shouldn't question this—or, us. I'm just... a little overwhelmed by you sometimes."

Adam searched for her left hand with his right. When he found it, he threaded his fingers through hers. "I know," he whispered. "I feel like that about you too. It's right there on those pages."

"Are we supposed to feel like this?" She sounded like she was on the verge of a sob.

He draped his other arm around her and kissed her softly on the forehead before he said, "Maybe it's just some kind of reaction to how intense things have been between us. You know, we've kind of been in overdrive, physically. Not that I'm complaining," he clarified, making her smile, thwarting the sob. "Maybe we've short-circuited something in our brains. I don't know. Maybe this is just what happens when the walls are down."

A tear had dislodged from her eye and rolled down her cheek. She couldn't stand it anymore. All the walls were _not_ yet down. Even though that was all she wanted. And maybe that was the source of the ache inside her that wouldn't cease.

Adam bent closer and softly kissed the spot where the tear had seeped into the corner of her mouth, drinking in its saltiness. "Come here," he whispered as he led her to the couch. She sat down with her head and back against his chest, his arms protectively wrapped around her.

"We're gonna be fine, everything's gonna be all right," he reassured her and she just nodded silently.

He couldn't see her face, but the way her chest heaved, he knew she was trying to keep more tears in check. Why was she so upset suddenly? Was it really just the whirlwind of all that had happened between them the past two months?

"Jane, is there something else?" he softly prodded.

There was a long silence before Joan said, "Adam..." She paused again before she went on, as if she was trying to find the right words. "There's something I've wanted to tell you for the longest time. Something about me that... that I'm afraid to talk about because... I'm scared it'll ruin everything."

What was she saying? Ruin everything? What could possibly ruin everything? What could be so devastating that it could break their now seemingly unbreakable bond? "What is it?" he whispered urgently, his voice now tense and worried.

Joan let out a breath, knowing she couldn't hold this back from him any longer. She had to stop waiting for the right moment to tell him. She had to tell him everything. For a while she wasn't sure that he should be the first person she'd tell her biggest secret to. But now, she was bursting to tell him, even though she was terrified of the thought of him walking away when he learned the truth.

He read her hesitation. "Come on, Jane. Whatever it is, I'm here for you and I'm not going anywhere."

If she didn't do it now, it wasn't going to happen. And it _had_ to. "Do you remember, back in high school, when I had Lyme Disease?" she forced out.

The knot in his stomach tightened. Was she sick again? Was there something worse wrong with her? "Of course, you gave us all a real scare."

"Do you remember what I told you in the hospital?"

What did she mean? He thought hard for a moment, trying to remember the conversation. Then, it came to him. "You mean about talking to, uh... God?"

She nodded slightly. "Yeah." Silence fell for a few seconds before Joan went on, "What if I told you that I wasn't hallucinating? That it was all real and not just some trick my infected brain played on me? What if I actually did talk to God?"

He couldn't stop the defensiveness in his voice when he said, "But you said yourself after summer camp that it wasn't real. I was ready to believe you then, why would you lie to me?" He suddenly had butterflies in his stomach the size of bats. Were they really going down that weird road again?

Joan sat up and untangled herself from his embrace. "Look, I... I didn't lie to you. At camp, I spent all summer being told I was just sick and seeing things. It was easy to believe that, because I really wanted it to just go away. You don't understand how hard it was sometimes. The things I had to do. So I just told myself the doctors were right. It wasn't real. I'd pretty much convinced myself by the time you said you believed me. The last thing I wanted was someone telling me just the opposite."

Adam fiddled with his fingers in his lap, looking down at them. "So what are you saying? That you really _were_ talking to God?"

"Not just was," she said quietly. "I still am." He met her eyes and she nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Okay, so run this by me again, because I'm not sure I don't have it all backwards."

Joan drew in a deep breath through her nose. "Six years ago, we had just moved to Arcadia, I'm walking across the front yard of our school and this guy comes up to me. Claims he's God. Yeah, right," she said sarcastically before she went on. "Except He told me things, things that no one knew, that no one _could_ know. And I mean, _no_ one, Adam. Except me and Him."

He felt something slip in him just a little bit, like he was coming over the top of the hill in the front seat of a roller coaster. He had no idea how to react. He thought of all those books he read that summer so many years ago. How had the loved ones of those people reacted? Mostly with fear and anger and doubt, he recalled. So many of them were shunned and flat-out persecuted.

Her voice became more deliberate. "As mind-blowing as the whole concept was, it really was God. I started to run into Him everywhere. He was always just some random person, or lots of different random people. One day He would be this cute guy and the next She would be this big, black custodian. Or a dog-walker."

Adam puzzled at that last one. He vaguely remembered this old dog-walker dude that always seemed to be around in Joan's neighborhood. He'd tripped over one of the guy's the dogs more than once visiting her house.

"Hey," she said, snapping him back to attention, "Johnny Broadway, remember him? The zombie musical school play?" she offered.

Adam nodded, wondering what he had to do with anything.

Joan looked at him pointedly. "More like Johnny Godway."

He gaped at her. "That guy was God?"

"Yeah—well... for a little while. Then He was someone else. See, His thing was giving me these annoyingly cryptic assignments, things for me to take care of, things that got me mixed up in other people's lives a lot. Like when He asked me to join the Yearbook staff and it was a disaster until I found that poem Grace wrote. The things He had me do were supposed to cause good ripples for someone, or everyone."

She stopped for a moment and watched it begin to sink in a little with him. Soon, she heard his soft voice. "God wanted you to make me read my mom's suicide note," he said. It wasn't a question, it was a revelation.

"Yes," Joan almost whispered, touched by his beautiful, astonished expression. "But then, He was also the reason I smashed your sculpture."

"What? He wanted you to smash my sculpture?"

"No! He just wanted you to stay in school because you had a wonderful future that you would've lost if you'd quit."

His eyes filled with tears but he held them in. He knew she was right about that. Funny what hindsight can do.

"The smashing... tha-that was all me," she confessed. "I wasn't making an excuse when I said I had a failure of imagination." She looked over at him, surprised to see him smiling slightly. "I panicked. Most of the time when I do that it's because of the cryptic. All God told me was not to let you enter it in the art show. I tried, but I couldn't stop you. When it sold and you said you were quitting school, I had to do something. Fast."

"God, that was so long ago. I was so mad at you then. Also, maybe a little afraid you were crazy."

She poked him playfully in the rib. "You wouldn't talk to me for almost two weeks. And it was torture because I was all about you. I just didn't understand it yet." Joan instinctively took Adam's hand and squeezed it a little. Hard to believe that the sweet and shy teenager he had been in high school was now the sweet, sophisticated man sitting next to her.

She looked at his face again and read a mixture of adoration and confusion as he spoke. "So, I could ask you about any of the weird things you used to do and you'd have an assignment from God to explain them?"

She laughed a little and nodded at the irony. "Yeah, pretty much."

"OK, let's test that theory." He took a long pause to think of something she'd done back in the day that he thought was crazy. "Ramsey," he finally said.

"God told me to take Steve Ramsey to the semi-formal because he was about to go Columbine and shoot up the school, or at least kill himself. God knew he was worth saving. Steve's a social worker now, you know."

"No, I didn't know."

"Yeah, he works with at-risk kids. I see him around sometimes."

Adam nodded, marveling.

"Good ripples," she whispered. "It was always about the ripples."

He raised his eyebrows slightly as he mulled over the weight of what she was asking him to accept. "All those clubs you joined, all the projects and the little obsessions, that was all Him?"

She nodded. "Well, it was me. God doesn't make people do things. He's really into free will. And consequences. But He was the one making all the 'suggestions'," she said with sarcastic little air quotes. "Guess that sounded more innocuous," she chuckled.

"So what about now? Does He still come round, ask you to do things?"

Joan nodded. "He does. Not as often, and I'm not usually as flaky about it anymore, but, yeah. He uses my job a lot, which makes the mundane parts easier to tolerate and the good parts way more rewarding. He's not as disruptive as He used to be. If you wanna know the truth," she leaned toward Adam confidentially and he played along. "I think He's got a new girl."

He smiled at her and sat up a little straighter, curious now. "So, what's the last thing He asked you to do?"

"Oh, that was... maybe three weeks ago. It was all about a little boy with leukemia who wanted to see his father one last time. I met him at a non-profit children's hospital through my job. Turns out the parents were divorced. His father left a long time ago and nobody knew where he was. But I found him. Well, my dad helped a little. You know, God isn't always clear about what He wants me to do, but I've gotten a little better at figuring things out over the years."

Adam grew quiet for a moment and Joan prodded carefully. "What?"

"You talk about this as if it's completely normal. Geez, you talk to God. Actually _talk_ to him."

"Adam, to me it has become normal. I've been doing this for six years. It's a part of my life." More quietly, she added, "That's why I wanted you to know. You're a part of my life now too, a big part. I don't want us to keep secrets from each other anymore."

"Yeah," he whispered. "Me neither. I'm glad you told me. I just... I'm not sure what to make of it."

"You know, He told me that He talks to everyone. It's just that most people don't listen."

Adam had no idea how to respond to that idea. He'd never really felt like God was trying to talk to him.

"You could talk to Him too," Joan said. "You used to talk to angels, remember?"

He smiled at how she seemed to treasure the memory of something so weird, told so long ago. Joan squeezed his hand lovingly. "You don't have to make anything of it right now. I know it's all pretty mind-blowing. Imagine how I felt at 16." She looked at him when she added, "Just tell me you believe me, that's all I need."

He turned his head and looked her in the eyes. After a small hesitation, he said, "I... I guess I believe you." He could see tears shimmering in Joan's eyes and he drew her close to him. "Hey," he soothed her gently.

She smiled through her tears as she let herself be enveloped in his arms. "You don't know how long I've waited for this. To tell someone, to tell _you_. And to have you believe it."

He bent down and sought out her lips, planting a very soft kiss on them. Then he whispered, "I love you, Jane. With or without God."

"If I want to talk to you about something He asks me to do, would that be all right?"

"Sure," he smiled, taking her face gently in his hands. "Yeah, always." He kissed her again, wishing he could ease her mind about that, that he could convey it with his touch. Because it had to be hell, right, carrying that secret for so long?

Joan was trying to fight off a sob that was working up in her throat when she felt her heart bend at the worshipful touch of Adam's lips. She deepened the kiss, almost breathless at the feeling of true trust and love that washed over her. Adam finally knew her. All of her.

When they broke the kiss, he softly stroked her arm, looking out the window at the brightening early morning sky. She watched him for a moment, almost dreamily. They both began to relax a little. Finally, he turned and kissed her forehead and said soothingly, "Come on. Let's go back to bed. Maybe we can catch a couple more hours of sleep."

Joan just nodded and let Adam guide her to the bedroom. Lying together in spoons, with his arm draped around her, she felt more secure than she had ever felt before. All the barriers were falling away. She was finally able to share everything with the man she loved, to share what she had never shared before and to let go of the aching fear that he would think she was insane or delusional. She drifted off to sleep with a small smile playing at her lips.

* * *


	13. Road Trip

_**Chapter 13**_  
**Road Trip**

_by Sisterdebmac_

* * *

**Author's Note:**  
_Three months in, a major turning point in the new romance of Joan and Adam. Followed by a setback. _

**Genre:**  
_Romance. This one gets a little angsty, folks._

**Rating:**  
_PG-13 for language and strong romantic (though non-smutty) scenes. _

**Disclaimer:**  
_They're not mine...blah blah blah. Barbara Hall...blah blah blah. CBS...blah blah blah._

* * *

_Rarely, oh so very rarely, did he raise his voice that when it happened, it was like the shock of breaking glass, or a car backfire. No one could keep from reflexively tensing at the sound. _

_"If I loved you anymore than I do, Jane, it would fucking kill me!" he railed._

_She flinched. In all the years they'd known each other, she could probably count the times that had happened on one hand._

_He looked at her, stared at her. At first, he couldn't believe what he'd said, or how he'd said it. But what cut deeper was the look on her face. Goddammit, he did love her that much. She needed to understand how gravely serious it was for him. But he never meant to hurt her. He didn't know how to fix any of this. He threw his hands out to the sides and walked away from her._

_She couldn't call out after him. She couldn't breathe. The last thing in the world Joan would've imagined three days ago was that she would crush Adam's hopes. Again. _

* * *

"You know I can't stand it when you go home, or I go home," Adam told Joan as they lay in bed contemplating getting up to get ready for another work day. It had been a snooze button morning for both of them, rather than a lovemaking morning.

"I know, me neither," she said.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. "Do you think you could ever live here?" he asked tentatively, turning his head so he could see her reaction. "The neighborhood's getting better and I've been thinking about making some improvements."

"Improvements?"

"Yeah, this old house could use a face-lift, don't you think?"

"A coat of paint maybe..." she suggested.

"At least. So, do you?"

"What?"

"Think you could live here?" he clarified.

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

He rose up on one elbow and looked down at her for a long moment.

"What, Adam?"

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her softly. "Let's talk about it tonight, OK?"

She nodded and touched his face as he slowly rolled over to get up, his cheek slightly scratchy in her palm before his morning shave. She wondered what he would look like with a beard, not sure whether she'd like it.

"We really need to get moving or we're gonna be late." He left her and went to the bathroom.

Joan didn't move at first. She lay there contemplating the idea of living with Adam, of being by his side every single morning, of waking up next to him in his bed. Or her bed? No, it would be _their_ bed, whichever one they'd choose. There were more advantages, to be sure. It would make so many things so much easier. And they rarely spent a night away from each other anymore anyway.

* * *

Joan left the house first. Adam went to his dad's bedroom, which he had not altered at all. It was just as Carl left it. And Carl had left it exactly as Elizabeth had left it. Adam opened the door and stood there for a while, surveying the room, this room that had been frozen in time for ten years. Sure, it was obvious from the clutter that a man had occupied it alone for a very long time. The paint looked old. The hardwood floor was dull. But the furniture hadn't changed. The pictures were still in place, in dusty old frames. Her wardrobe still occupied the corner. And her dresser was untouched.

Adam crossed the room slowly and approached the dresser. His mother's mahogany jewelry box was still there. He opened the top drawer and found a clear plastic jewel bag. He opened it and emptied its contents into his palm. The beveled gold ring had delicate Celtic knot work all the way around. It was set with a small teardrop-shaped emerald, a tiny diamond on each side of it. The little zipper bag had protected it from age for the most part, but it could still use a good professional cleaning. It had to sparkle for what he had in mind. He took it with him when he went to work. He knew of a jewelry store near his office that could probably take care of it if he dropped it off at lunch. When he left the house, he was already composing what he wanted to say...

* * *

Joan giggled as she looked over at Adam. They were sitting at the kitchen table, just having finished with strawberries and cream as a highlight to round off a relaxed and delicious dinner they had cooked together.

"What?" he looked at her, a twinkle in his eye.

"You've got cream all over your chin." She took her napkin, reached over across the table and wiped at it.

"Oops," he said.

"Should I get you a bib?" she joked.

But he wasn't smiling. Instead, his eyes were staring at a fixed spot just beside her.

"Hey, don't zone out on me," she chided him. "What's going on inside that skull of yours?"

He focused his attention back on her. "You know, this morning we talked about you moving in here."

"Yeah..." she said hesitantly, almost like a question.

"Well, I keep thinking about it, and... I really want that. I mean, if you do." He almost expected her to say there was no way in hell she could live in his run-down old house. "I know it's not exactly the Ritz, but if we fix it up, it could be all right."

"Of course it could—"

"If you don't want to stay here, we can move anywhere you want, look for a nice apartment or house, maybe on the outskirts—" He stopped when he realized she had agreed with him. "It could?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure," she said with a smile. "It's a fine house. Plenty big enough for just us. But are we really ready to start thinking about living together?"

He actually let a small laugh escape and then met her gaze to look deeply into her almond-shaped eyes. "Maybe this isn't exactly the most romantic setting, but..." He took both her hands and quickly cleared his throat before he went on, "Joan Agnes Girardi, my sweet Jane, I love you with all that I am. As corny as it may sound, you're my soul mate and I've always known it. You're in all my best memories and all my future plans. There's nothing in this world I want more than for you to be with me—always. To be my wife." He fumbled to get the small box out of his pants pocket, opened it and held the ring out to her. Briefly, relief flooded over him that it had come out the way he meant for it to. He drew in a bit of a shaky breath for the most important part, pulled all his courage together and asked, "Will you marry me?"

At first, she couldn't move, then her hand went to her mouth. He was uncertain what to make of that. But then tears and laughter finally gave him a clue.

She almost jumped up from her chair and fell into his arms in an ecstatic embrace. "Yes," she gasped into his ear, laughing and crying at the same time. "Oh, God, yes!"

He held her tightly as he smiled through his own tears. He couldn't have hoped for a better answer. Finally, she broke free from their embrace and picked up the box with the beautiful ring from the table. "It's so gorgeous. Adam?"

He took it out, praying it would fit her ring finger as he moved to put it on. They both sighed in relief when it did. Perfectly. "It was my mom's engagement ring. Dad said she wanted me to give it to the woman I asked to marry me."

"I love it," she smiled, fighting more tears as she looked first at him and then at the ring.

"I'm not much for long engagements, Jane," he whispered as he took her face in his hands. "We already missed June and I don't wanna wait for another one."

"Me neither," she agreed.

"What if we just do it now?" he boldly suggested.

"What do you mean?"

"Bypass the all the stuffy old formalities and just get married. You know, like Grace would."

She had to laugh and shrug at that. He was kidding, right? Wasn't he?

"Marry me and move in with me. We'll do a whole reclamation thing. Make the place a family home again. We'll remodel the rooms with new wallpaper and paint, we'll give the garden that make-over we were talking about. What do you say?"

His eyes shone with a happiness she didn't see often enough, they almost positively seemed to sparkle with it. He was so excited about the idea, it took her breath away. She couldn't stop her hand going to her heart as she understood that he wasn't kidding after all. The idea was certainly appealing, in a whirl-windy sort of way. "When would we do this?" she asked, trying to cover any skepticism that might sneak into her voice.

"How 'bout this weekend?"

"Oh, so you really mean _now_? Like, you wanna elope?"

"Yeah."

"You really wanna jump into this so fast?"

His hands came up to touch her shoulders. He looked at her earnestly, trying to discern what was causing her hesitation when for him there was none. "Are you saying you need more time to decide if you want us to be together?"

"No, I'm not saying that," she quickly said to reassure him.

"Are you sure? Because I'm sure."

"I'm sure, Adam. I love you. I want this." Her eyes sought out his to underline that she was serious too.

"So...?" he looked at her pleadingly, his hands slipping to her hips.

She bit her thumbnail for a few seconds. "Could we really do it that quick?"

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Absolutely. I looked into it. We could drive down to Virginia Beach this weekend. We won't need blood tests and there's no waiting period for the license. So we'll just pick out a quaint little chapel somewhere, or go to a justice of the peace, whatever you want. I'll find a place to stay on the beach. We'll have a brief, but _very_memorable honeymoon..." he purred, pulling her close and nuzzling her earlobe. She almost swooned as he ran his lips over her neck.

"Oh... OK..." she sighed into his ear. He had really put some thought into this, hadn't he?

He pulled away to look into her eyes. "OK?"

She leaned in and kissed him passionately in answer. His eyes were glazed over by the time she broke the kiss. He smiled goofily. "OK."

She took him by both hands and guided him to bed to give him the most loving gift anyone had ever given him.

* * *

Road signs swooshed by like passing cars, but Adam didn't really pay any attention to them. They were on their way to Virginia Beach, which they had tried before—a romantic weekend trip to the shore. That particular time, it wasn't meant to be. But this was different. They woke up together and hit the road very early on this Friday morning. Their respective bosses had happily given them both Friday and Monday off, once they learned what they were doing. They told no one else. They packed everything they imagined they might need into the back of Adam's Forester the night before and they took off before seven AM.

They stopped for breakfast at their favorite little diner on the south side of Arcadia and before long they were on the highway, listening to music and daydreaming about sun and sand and a bright future together.

When Adam stole a glance at his girlfriend in the passenger seat—now fiancée, he had to remind himself—he had to smile. He suspected Joan had nodded off when she became quiet for a while, and his gaze at her sleeping figure, her head leaned against the passenger side door frame confirmed his suspicions. He had to fight the urge to reach over and touch her face or her hair, but he didn't have the heart to wake her. They had gotten up at 5:30 AM, and they had barely slept the night before. Of course, she was a little tired.

Looking ahead, the light, post-rush hour traffic was moving smoothly. He opened the middle console and flipped through a handful of Joan's CDs. One with a yellow cover looked vaguely familiar. It read_Barenaked Ladies – Stunt_. One eye on the road, he carefully removed it from its case and inserted it into the CD player.

He turned down the volume so that it wouldn't disturb Joan and listened to the funky mixture of pop and folk and something he couldn't quite define. It was uplifting and cheerful and he always liked these guys well enough. He started drumming his thumbs to the beat on the steering wheel, leaned back a little and tackled the 150-some miles still ahead of them.

Three quarters of an hour later, Joan stirred in her seat, opening her eyes sleepily. Next to her, Adam was singing along in a low voice, "It's all been done, whoo hoo hoo. It's all been done befooooore." And it wasn't bad either, he could carry a tune quite well. Joan smiled and stretched her arms over her head as much as that was possible within the confines of the car.

"You're awfully chipper," she smirked at Adam.

Adam quickly looked at her before directing his gaze back at the road ahead. "Hey, look, someone's awake."

"How long was I out?"

"I don't know. Maybe an hour?"

"You wanna swap? Want me to drive for a while?" she asked.

"Nah, it's okay. It's only another hour and a half or so. You need a bathroom break, want to pick up something to eat?"

"No, I'm fine for now." Her gaze fell upon the yellow CD case that lay on the dashboard. She picked it up. "So I see you've been having fun with the Barenaked Ladies, huh? I didn't know you could sing."

"I didn't know I could sing either," he admitted.

"Wow, looks like I got the whole package. A man who can sculpt, paint _and_ sing. Any other hidden talents I've been missing out on?"

The look on his face was a downright mischievous. "I may have a few more surprises up my sleeve. Guess you'll just have to wait and see."

"I like surprises," she grinned at him. "So... where did you say we're staying?" she asked. He hadn't dropped one hint.

"I didn't say," he smiled, barely missing a beat as he went back to humming along to the Barenaked Ladies song.

"You're really not gonna tell me?"

"Nope." He pressed his lips together with an amused twinkle in his eye.

"You. Are. Evil."

"Can't be. You wouldn't marry an evil man... Would you?"

"Never." She reached over and brushed a short curl of hair off his forehead, more for the pleasure of touching him than from necessity. "So, how many hours of research did you do online for this?"

"Hey, I'm good. I had everything sewn up in less than an hour."

"Everything, like what?"

"Well, I found this really cute little chapel that overlooks a point. If you like it, we can get married right on the ocean." His gaze became a little dreamy as he looked out the windshield.

"Wow," she smiled.

"And there's Colonial Boardwalk Market. They have a custom jeweler in residence there. She makes all kinds of stuff but her wedding and commitment sets are totally unique. I mean they're like art, really amazing. Well, you'll see because that's where I thought we'd shop for our rings tomorrow. Sound okay?"

"Sounds... really romantic."

"So license today," he said counting out the steps on his fingers. "Rings tomorrow, wedding... and wedding night on Sunday," he looked over at her and grinned.

She grabbed the hand he was counting on and held it to her, lovingly, possessively. "Watch the road," she said. He looked back out the front window again. "You've got it all planned out."

"Tentatively," he said quickly. "It's your day. You can totally change anything you want. I just looked into things so we'd know our options."

"Well, I think you've got a pretty good plan there, so we'll stick with it."

Just then, the next song came on and Joan cranked up the volume. "So let's have some fun," she told Adam above the intro to _One Week_. Joan started moving her head, arms and body to the beat, singing along as best as she could, beaming at Adam.

Adam just smirked back at her, drumming his hands on the bottom part of the steering wheel. As he did, he felt his stomach taking a joyful somersault. This was what it was supposed to feel like to be in love. There had been a time when he had thought he could never be truly happy again. All the more amazing that happiness had finally found him. He wanted to capture it and never let it go again.

So he did the next best thing. He smiled a broad smile, swayed to the rhythm and vowed to hold on to this moment for as long as he could.

* * *

Two hours later, Adam turned the car into the parking lot of the Sands Virginia Beach Resort. Joan was immediately taken aback. "No way! The Sands? Can we afford this?"

"It's our honeymoon. It's special."

"Adam..." She sat there, gaping.

He smirked at her. "You can close your mouth, Jane. It's real. Come on, let's get our stuff before the valet comes to take the car away."

Walking into the lobby, a bellman following along with their luggage, Joan looked around, still agape. "I can't believe we're staying here." It was the nicest place she had ever been in. She didn't want to think about how much of his savings account Adam must have raided for this.

The line wasn't very long at check-in and since they had a bellman along with them, they got fast and courteous service. "Yes, Mr. Rove, we have you booked into one of our honeymoon cottages on the beach. If you'll just sign here, I'll have a cart waiting outside to take you there," the desk clerk told them.

Joan was completely speechless. The bellman smiled at her knowingly and headed back to the front drive to load their luggage into a golf cart. Adam signed the registration forms and slipped his arm around Joan's waist to lead her back out the front door.

Adam drove their cart to cottage number 6, the last one on the row of gorgeous little buildings right on the shore. Joan still hadn't said a word. He took her hand and lifted her out of the cart's seat and they went inside the cottage. It was beautifully appointed and fully equipped. It made her wish they had more than a weekend to enjoy it.

"So, I guess we're safe in saying you're pleasantly surprised?" he asked.

She answered him with a kiss. A magnificent, loving, delicious kiss. He held her tight and absorbed all of her joy. He could feel her trying to turn it into something more. He drew back gently. "Jane, the license office closes at four. We should head over there soon."

She relented. "Okay." She smiled at him as he went back out and unloaded their luggage from the golf cart. Before long, they were back in his car driving to City Hall.

It took less than an hour for the whole process and it cost all of 35. They were back at their cottage by five, getting ready for dinner at one the of five-star Sands Resort restaurants. They got all dressed up and ventured out to see what their choices were. Since they were on the coast, they chose the cozy seafood bistro, The Cove.

"No prices on the menu," Joan noted.

"That's the beauty of all-inclusive resorts. Have anything you want. It's already paid for."

"Oh, yeah," she smiled, looking the lavish menu over with new eyes. "This rocks," she whispered to herself.

The resort sent them a bottle of very good champagne, as was the custom for occupants of the honeymoon cottages. And there was a live jazz quartet playing, so Adam and Joan danced together for the first time since they were teenagers. And dance he could. It wasn't the first time she had wondered where he picked up all these new skills she just kept discovering in him. It wasn't even the first time today.

"You're really good at this," she whispered as she smiled up at him, her head on his shoulder.

"What?"

"All of it. I wish we were married right now," she mused.

"Forty eight hours from now, we will be," he said so sweetly it made her heart melt.

As lovely as this was, dancing in this beautiful room to this sensual music, she just wanted to be alone with him. "Have I told you today how much I love you?"

"I don't think so."

"Then let's go back to the cottage."

All they had to do was tip. And tip they did. They had the whole Sands staff on their side, rooting for them by the end of the night. When they rather suddenly cut things short at The Cove, they got knowing looks and smiles and Adam took a couple of pats on the back. They fled in their golf cart back to the cottage, giggling the whole way.

Inside, she kissed him and pulled at his clothes. He let her remove his jacket, but then he took her hands gently in his own, locked eyes with her and slowed her down. She loved it when he took over. She could just lay back and let go and he would do the rest. He was gentle even when he was urgent. But sometimes, she wanted him so much, she forgot to be gentle. And when she wanted him not to be, well, he could do that too. He indulged her every whim, savored it. She was sure they would spend years discovering how to drive each other to new heights. A lifetime.

He kissed her cheeks and her forehead and her lips, softly, still holding her hands so that she could only stand there, facing him. He smiled as he released her hands and began to very calmly remove her dress. She reached for him but he pushed her hands down to her sides and let the dress slide down around her. She leaned on him and stepped out of it. He laid it over a chair and took off her slip in the same slow, languid fashion. He took her hand and held it up, looking down and nodding at her shoes. She stepped out of them. What was he playing at?

He started to unbutton his shirt, but she stepped forward and reached for the buttons. He let her unfasten them. She got sidetracked halfway down as she reached in and ran her hands over his bare chest. He brought them back out to the buttons, looking her in the eye as he did so.

She finished unbuttoning them and then she un-tucked his shirt, pulling it down over his shoulders. She wanted his skin on hers right then, she could feel the goose bumps of anticipation already forming. But she knew he would stop her if she tried any move in that direction. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to take off his pants without touching him. But by now she knew that was what he wanted her to do.

She unbuckled his belt more carefully than she had ever bothered to before, but her knuckles brushed against him. She watched his belly as his breath hitched. Oh, yeah. She understood now. Delayed gratification. She released the button on his trousers and began to slide the zipper down, ever so carefully avoiding any pressure.

Adam wanted to grab her and ravish her. She was killing him. This was insane. He did everything he could to keep himself still. She slipped his slacks down over his hips, trying not to caress his butt on the way down, but still brushing his cheeks with her fingers as she let his pants fall to the floor. He stepped out of them and she laid them over the chair, atop her dress. He stopped at her bra and panties, so she figured she should stop at his boxers.

She tried to move into his arms, but he held her back. He guided them toward the bed. Thank God! She tried to lay back and pull him on top of her. Instead, he directed her to one side of it and he went to the other. The confusion on her face was so adorable, he had to fight not to smile. They got under the covers and she was still looking at him, trying to hold his eye. What was this?

He turned off the bedside lamp, leaving only the light from under the slightly open bathroom door to cast a dim glow into the dark room. She reached for him, boldly this time. But he took her hand, kissed it and placed it back by her side. "Why don't we wait?" he whispered.

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"Sunday night is our wedding night. Why don't we wait till then?"

Wait? Really? She couldn't believe it. They were both more than ready—about to explode—physically as well as emotionally. But it was just so incredibly sweet. She couldn't really protest. "Are... are you sure about this?" she choked out, trying to tell her body this wasn't gonna happen tonight.

"When you went back on the pill and we decided to wait a week till we were sure it was all kicked-in and we were safe, that first time when we didn't need a condom anymore... that was..." he paused, struggling for a way to express what he felt that night. "Jane, that was... like..." Maybe there were no words.

"I know," she said. She had been overwhelmed too. Tears began to rise in their eyes. They had cried in each other's arms that night, feeling more connected, more melded to each other than they ever had to anyone or anything in their lives.

"As special as that was—and believe me, it was one of the greatest nights of my life, ever—our wedding night is going to completely eclipse it," he promised.

"Well..." she said haltingly, fighting a sob, "that's gonna be some night, isn't it?"

* * *

Saturday morning, they had breakfast at Oaxaca Cantina by the beach—virgin strawberry margaritas and huevos rancheros. After that, they stocked the refrigerator in their cottage with all sorts of "honeymoon supplies". They bought snacks and breakfast food and another really good bottle of champagne. They knew that once the wedding was done, they would have difficulty leaving the cottage before it was time to go home.

Once that was taken care of, Adam drove them to the Colonial Boardwalk Market and they walked to the jeweler's shop, called simply Jude, after its owner and craftswoman. It was such a cool place, just as Adam had described it. Joan felt instantly comfortable there. They admired so many funky wedding sets that they couldn't imagine choosing one. After the shop's proprietor, Jude—a tall, elegantly casual woman—cleared out a few tourists, she greeted Joan and Adam at the counter.

"You're looking for wedding bands, aren't you?"

Adam smiled at her as Joan said, "Are we that obvious?"

Jude merely shrugged good-naturedly.

"Everything is so incredible here," Joan said, leaning her hands on the glass as she looked inside the case again.

Jude's gaze wandered to Joan's hands and she noticed the engagement ring. "Oh my," she said. "May I?" she pointed to Joan's left hand.

Joan lifted it to her. Jude held it lightly, like a Victorian gentleman who might at any moment kiss it. Joan almost blushed.

"This is a really special piece. Who did it?" she asked, looking at Adam.

He shrugged. "I don't know. My dad had it made for my mom. Would've been in the mid '70s."

Jude smiled. "Sweet." Then she turned back to Joan. "Would you mind if I looked inside for a signature. I'm curious now."

"It's not bad luck or something, is it? To take off the engagement ring once you put it on?"

"I don't think so," Jude said.

Joan shrugged and took off the ring. Jude held a jeweler's loop over her eye and looked inside. "JRD," she read aloud.

"Does that tell you anything?" Adam asked.

"No. But with mid 70's, JRD and—where was this made?"

"Maryland, maybe? I grew up in Arcadia. I guess it was made there."

"I might be able to find out. In the meantime, you're here for wedding bands." Jude handed the ring back to Joan and jotted down the facts she had gathered about it along with a description of it on a note pad.

"Yeah," Joan said, putting the engagement ring back on.

"Well, with a piece like that, to be honest, I would go with something really simple. Like a beveled gold band. You want to accentuate, not clash... Here," she said as she pulled out a tray of rings and pointed out such a set. "Something like this." She took the ladies ring out and handed it to Joan. "Try it."

Again, Joan was shocked when the ring fit like it was made for her. And beside the engagement ring, it looked like the most stunning companion possible. "Oh, my God, Adam, look at this," she beamed, holding her hand out to him.

"It's perfect," he smiled, clasping her hand and kissing it quickly.

"Try yours." She held it out to him.

He slipped it on and once again, perfect fit. He almost succumbed to tears when he saw these rings of ultimate commitment on both of their hands. But he held himself in check. "We'll take 'em," he told Jude, laughing softly and happily through his impulse to cry. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and took out his credit card. Joan grabbed him and kissed him, once Jude had the card in her hand.

When he signed the receipt, he placed one of his business cards on the counter. "In case you find out who made the ring. I'd like to know."

Jude smiled and took it. "I promise I'll call you."

"And if you ever need any graphic design..."

"Or if you ever come to Arcadia," Joan interjected. "Give us a shout. We'll go to dinner or something. We don't want to lose track of the artist who made our rings."

Adam smiled in total agreement, "Yeah."

Jude smiled warmly and appreciatively at both of them as she boxed their rings, bagged them and handed them to Adam, along with his credit card. "Thank you. I wish you the very best with your wedding, Adam... Joan. I hope I can call you with good news soon."

"Thanks," Adam said and he took Joan's hand and led her back out onto the boardwalk. It took several minutes for Joan to realize she never told Jude her name.

* * *

Adam drove up the little hill to the point where the Lighthouse Wedding Chapel was located. It overlooked the ocean in a most picturesque way. Joan's eyes lit up when she saw it. Even in a storm, this would be a perfect place for a small, private wedding. "It's even cuter than the pictures on the web," he said, smiling at her reaction to it.

"It's amazing," she agreed. As he parked the car, she wondered, "Where is everybody?" There was not one other car anywhere in the small lot.

"I don't know," he said as he cut the engine. They got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Both their faces fell when they saw the handwritten sign there:

_"CLOSED due to a death in the minister's family. Sorry for any inconvenience. Call 555-1212 for Justice Of The Peace --- on call all weekend."_

"Oh my God. They have got to be kidding!" Joan said.

"Dammit!" Adam said, letting a sharp, frustrated breath escape him. "I had a reservation and everything."

She tried to touch his shoulder to calm him down. "It's OK."

He pulled away from her. "No, it's not OK! I can't believe this!"

"Adam, it's not your fault. It's not anybody's fault. It's just..."

"Ruined," he said, finishing her sentence for her, his voice deflated.

"No, it's not ruined. We'll go to the Justice Of The Peace." She dug her cell phone out of her bag and called the number on the sign. When they answered, she said, "Hello, we're at the Lighthouse Chapel and we had a reservation for tomorrow. Can you squeeze us in?" When their answer came, she smiled. "One-thirty is fine. We'll be there."

She closed her phone and wrapped her arms around Adam. He returned her embrace with a small sigh of relief. "See?" she said, grinning up at him. "All better."

* * *

They could barely sleep Saturday night. Part of it was the quite natural butterflies associated with their impending nuptials. Part of it was a bit of sexual frustration, but if they were honest they would say that was rather delicious. Most of it was excitement about the future. Every time Adam drifted off, he dreamed about fixing up the old house. And clean white sheets. And waking up with Joan. And steamy showers... with Joan. Mmmmmkay, that was interesting.

When Joan slipped into dreamland, she mostly saw him—coming home to her from a long day's work, fixing a pipe under the kitchen sink, barbecuing in the back yard. There was a swing set and a little jungle gym there. Hmmmm, that was new. She saw herself bringing a pitcher of iced tea to him as he painted a canvas in his shed. She wished she could stay asleep long enough to enjoy these images.

They were both already awake when the clock went off.

Breakfast was a joke. They were far too nervous to eat. She sipped at a cup of tea and he tried to take a few bites of a cream cheese-slathered bagel. In the end, they just gave up trying and took leisurely stroll along the beach to try to settle their jitters. All the while telling themselves and each other that it was perfectly normal to feel this way on one's wedding day. It made Joan wish she had someone, anyone, there to reassure her. Adam must've felt the same way because he mentioned missing his dad. Twice.

They were kind of quiet as they got dressed for the occasion. Adam wore a smart blue suit, with a blue shirt and a slightly funky silk tie and Joan wore a beautiful pale yellow dress with a faint pattern of flowers along the bottom edge. Because it had spaghetti straps, there was a gauzy wrap that went with it. But on this bright summer day, she decided to leave that behind.

When he saw her, his heart leapt into his throat. She was a vision. He would marry this woman today. His sweet, amazing Jane. It was a dream come true.

In the lobby of The Sands, the bellman took their picture with Adam's camera. And the concierge presented Joan with a small bouquet of white roses. Just another of the perks of staying in a honeymoon cottage.

* * *

Finally, they stood before the elderly Justice Of The Peace in his very cramped office just a block from City Hall. The couple that was up next sat in metal folding chairs in uncomfortably close proximity to act as witnesses. Adam kept touching his jacket pocket, making sure the ring box was there. Yep, still there... still there.

The judge asked Adam and Joan to join right hands. When they did, Adam was a little surprised to find that her palm was clammy. Usually, he was the one who had that problem, but he didn't today. He smiled at her sweetly, trying to ease the nervousness she was obviously still feeling.

The judge opened his little book and began, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the joining together of this man and this wo—

"Whoa-whoa-whoa," Joan interrupted, pulling her hand away from Adam. "Um, I'm sorry. Can we stop?

He turned to her in alarm. She looked like she was about to faint. "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly. She shook her hands at her sides a little and tried to catch her breath. "Are you OK? Do you need to sit down?" Adam asked.

"No, I... Adam, I can't do this."

The sentence hung in the air for a few silent seconds before he asked, "Can't do what?"

"I can't get married like this."

He looked around at the others. All eyes were on him now. He couldn't help feeling embarrassed. "What are you talking about?" he whispered close to her ear.

"I'm sorry. Can we just go outside? I need some air."

She didn't wait for his answer. She practically ran out of the room. He looked around and said, "Sorry," to no one and everyone, and he followed her.

Outside the building, she quickened her pace even more.

"Jane, where are you going?" he called after her. She made it all the way to the car before he caught up with her and reached for her arm. "Will you just stop for a second? What's going on?"

"I'm really sorry, OK?"she said as tears came to her eyes. "I thought I could do it, but I just can't."

"Can't what? Can't marry me?" He was baffled. What was she saying? Hadn't they both agreed on this—enthusiastically?

She shook her head. "Not like this, not in that place."

"Is this about losing the chapel?" he asked, incredulity creeping into his voice.

"No! I... I don't know why I thought this..." she paused, looked at the building in front of her. "I thought this would be OK, but I just looked around that crappy little office with the tacky wood paneling and the dirty carpet and I realized that people should not get married like this."

"Well, we don't have much of a choice now, do we?" He was getting just a tiny bit annoyed, and she could hear it in his voice.

"Sure we do," she tried to placate whatever was starting to bubble up inside of him.

"Not if we're going to do this today."

She let his statement stand for a minute.

"Oh, no. You're not backing out on me, are you? Jane!" His hands went to his head. She was, wasn't she? "I can't help it that we didn't get the chapel. You're the one who said let's call the Justice Of The Peace—"

"Yes, I said let's call the stupid Justice Of The Peace! But it was a mistake."

"A mistake?"

"Adam, it just became really clear to me that it's going to kill my parents if we do this."

"Your parents? What the hell do they have to do with it? It's _our_ wedding!"

"Hello? Their baby girl runs off and elopes at some Justice Of The Peace? My mom's been planning my wedding in her head since, like, the day I was born! She'd be completely heartbroken if we did this. And Dad? I have no idea what he might do to you."

"I think you're exaggerating a little," he said dismissively, wondering if this was just an excuse.

"Do you? Adam, you know my mom's gotten way into her faith again in the last few years. She's actually talked about how she wants me to marry in the Catholic Church, even though I'm not into the whole church thing myself. And Dad's gotten back into it too, kind of. I'm their only daughter. They don't get to plan weddings for Kevin and Luke—I mean if those two losers ever find anybody crazy enough to marry them."

"So you're backing out of our wedding at the last possible minute because you don't wanna upset your mom?"

"You really don't get what a huge deal this is, do you?"

"I think you're the one who doesn't get it, Joan," he snapped as he turned away from her.

Why was it that he could make her name feel like a slap in the face? "OK, so you're really mad at me..."

"You noticed that?"

She impulsively reached for him but he swiveled away from her touch. His eyes were pleading though as he looked back at her. "Look, why can't we just do this now and have a big church ceremony later?"

"You know that's not the same." He really didn't understand, did he?

"So what are you saying? We just pack up and go home, forget about all our plans?"

"No, not forget. Just put them on hold for a little while. We'll go talk to Mom and Dad and we'll set a date. Not too far in the future, but far enough so Mom has time to plan everything and Dad has time to figure out how he's going to pay for it."

"How far?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I have no idea how long it takes to plan a wedding."

"Sounds like indefinitely to me," he concluded.

"Come on, Adam, don't be like this. I promise we'll do it as soon as possible."

He didn't know how to respond to the way she was making him feel. He shook his head when he found he could no longer meet her eyes. "Are you sure this is really about not disappointing your parents?"

"What else would it be?" she tried to sound soothing, but it wasn't working. "I mean, I admit that judge's office was creeping me out, but—"

He waved off her attempt to placate him. "No, no, no, I mean, I can buy the church wedding thing as a factor. But are you sure you're telling me the whole truth?"

"What whole truth?"

"That maybe you're really just scared?"

"Scared? Of what?"

"I don't know... of me, of all of it. Maybe you just don't want to be married to me."

Was he really afraid she was backing out of marrying him? How could he be? They'd come this far. She took a step toward him again, but he really did not want her to. "Don't," he whispered darkly.

She backed off and a tear ran silently down her cheek.

He noticed it, but it didn't soften him—not today. "I know we've both had this weird, nagging thing where we keep expecting everything to fall apart on us. Like something's gonna come along and break us up again," he said. "But we can't let that get in the way or it becomes kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy, doesn't it?"

"Adam, I am not scared and I promise you, I swear to you, I do want to marry you."

"You're not scared? Not even a little?"

"Well, OK, sure. A little. Aren't you?"

"Yeah! You think I get married everyday? But if I let being scared stop me from doing things, I'd never leave the house! Why can't you just trust it this time? Trust _me_?"

"I do trust you. This has nothing to do with my feelings for you—"

"Bullshit, Jane!" he suddenly yelled, throwing his arms in the air. "What are you even talking about? Marrying me has nothing to do with your feelings for me? What are you smoking? That doesn't even make sense!"

"It would if you'd just listen to me—"

He held up a hand at her to stop her."I have listened. And if this is all you have to say..." he trailed off for a second, and a disturbing new thought occurred to him. "Wait, did _God_tell you not to go through with it?" He couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Joan's face went hot. No way he just went _there_. Except he did. "You're playing the God card? I don't believe you. Adam, that is so not fair!"

He matched her anger, looking her right in the eye when he said, "No? Then make me understand this! Because marrying you is all about my feelings for you. If I loved you anymore than I do, Jane, it would fucking kill me!" he railed.

She flinched. In all the years they'd known each other, she could probably count the times that had happened on one hand.

He looked at her, stared at her. At first, he couldn't believe what he'd said, or how he'd said it. But what cut deeper was the look on her face. Goddammit, he did love her that much. She needed to understand how gravely serious it was for him. But he never meant to hurt her. He didn't know how to fix any of this. He threw his hands out to the sides and walked away from her.

She couldn't call out after him. She couldn't breathe. The last thing in the world Joan would've imagined three days ago was that she would crush Adam's hopes. Again.

She watched him disappear down the street before she collapsed in tears, leaning against the car for support.

* * *

It was a lonely and miserable trip back to the Sands. She felt like all eyes were on her when she stepped onto the free CNG beach shuttle bus, but maybe that was just her guilt weighing on her. And also, why shouldn't they stare at a girl in a pretty dress all alone on a beach shuttle with red, puffy eyes and a runny nose she was trying to hide?

When the bus parked in front of the lobby, she stepped wearily off it and walked into the welcome air conditioned comfort. The bellman was surprised to see her alone and looking very down. "Are you all right, Ma'am?" he asked approaching her.

She nodded a little and tried to give him a smile as she passed him by. He was unconvinced.

She asked at the front desk to be carted out to the cottage. A driver was there in a few minutes and he dropped her by the door, wisely not saying anything the whole trip. She entered to find the cottage empty.

Despair washed over here once again. She sat on the bed in a heap and let the tears come. She hoped Adam would be there. She wanted another chance to try to explain herself. She couldn't lose him over this.

An hour passed. Still no Adam. It scared her a little that she had no idea where he was or what he was doing. Her worry slowly manifested in restlessness. She changed out of her dress into shorts and a tank top and began packing her things. If he did come back, she was certain they were in for an immediate and very tense drive back to Arcadia. If he didn't come back, she would rent a car and drive home herself.

She jumped when she heard the door open. He stepped in and stood there, taking in the sight of her and her half-packed suitcase. He had long before taken off his tie and jacket, loosened his collar and rolled up his sleeves. There were sweat stains on his shirt and his hair was a little disheveled and damp around the edges.

"Where were you?" she asked, hoarse form crying.

"I went back to the car and you were gone... so I took a long walk," he answered simply, his voice quiet.

"What was I supposed to do? You left me there."

"I needed to think... How'd you get back?"

"I took the beach shuttle."

He nodded and for want of something reasonable to say, he commented, "Man, it's really hot out there."

"Yeah," she acknowledged. Were they really talking about the weather? She went hopelessly back to her packing. He didn't say anything for a very long time. She wondered if he would. Or if this was what the drive home would be like.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and just watched her for much longer than he meant to. The silence grew dense and heavy. He could see no way to put whatever fell apart today back together. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so powerless. But he was sure it probably had something to do with Joan. Finally, he whispered, "You going somewhere?"

"Home," she sighed.

"Now?"

"Well, I guess it's over, so we should just go home."

"Over? What's over?"

She didn't answer, just continued packing.

"Jane, stop packing and look at me!" he pleaded.

She stopped and sat on the bed beside her suitcase, but it took her several more seconds to meet his eyes.

"What's over?" he repeated.

"You tell me."

"Nothing's over. Except maybe this fantasy I was wrapped up in."

"That's what it was for you?"

"No! I mean I just got carried away. I let myself believe that you wanted it as much as I did."

"I do! That's what you're not getting!" she challenged.

He looked at his shoe tops. "Friday night... you said you wished we were already married. But Jane, if that's what you wanted, we would be. Right now."

Her turn to search for an answer.

"The last few days were probably the happiest of my life," he continued when she said nothing. "They were all about us, like we were the only people in the world. But it never has been just about us... has it?"

She still offered no answers.

"I don't know what to do with this. I don't know how to explain the way I feel right now."

"You don't have to... Adam, I know I hurt you. And I know that on the surface, it seems like I'm just scared and making excuses. But that's not the case. I told you I was done keeping secrets from you. If there was some other reason why I couldn't go through with the wedding, I'd tell you."

"You would?" he asked.

She nodded. "I never meant for things to turn out like this. It was shitty of me to let it go as far as it did and then just expect you to accept it when I put on the brakes."

He certainly understood that. He felt much the same for the way he had been pushing things. And the way he blew up when they stopped going his way. He tossed his suit jacket and tie onto a chair went to sit beside her on the bed. "I'm sorry it all got so screwed up. I think I tried too hard to make everything perfect."

"It was. Everything this weekend seemed to fall into place, like it was meant to be. Well, except for the chapel—"

He squinted in that peculiar way of his and pointed a finger at her. "See, I knew you were upset about that."

"OK, I was a little," she reluctantly admitted. "But look at everything else we had going for us. We found our beautiful rings, The Sands is awesome. It just felt so right, everything about it. Until that last second. You have to believe me when I say it's not about us. Everything in me is telling me that marrying you is right. And that it's gonna be wonderful. But everything in me is also telling me that this is not the time or the place. That it matters,_really _matters that we do it right."

He seemed to mull her words over for a moment. "And right is...?"

"At home, in the Church, with my family and Grace and everybody that matters there to witness it, and celebrate with us. Don't you want that?"

"Not as much as I want us to be married," he said with a clear-eyed sincerity that rendered Joan speechless. When he saw that she had no reply, he asked, "You're not gonna budge, are you?"

"I can't. Adam, I owe this to my parents. You know how we've been wishing your mom and dad could be here to see us? How happy we are?"

He nodded.

"Well, I started thinking... my mom and dad _are_ here... And they're pretty great."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Because your parents can't be here, it means everything to me that I can share the most important day of my life, my wedding to you, with my parents. They deserve it. You know?"

He nodded again, finally understanding how monumental what they were doing really was. It almost overwhelmed him. They were committing to spend the rest of their lives together. It was bigger than anything they'd ever done. He reached for her hand.

"And_we_ deserve to have a bunch of people we love with us for this, don't we?" she continued.

"I get it," he said with a melancholy smile. "I can't deny that I'm disappointed about having to wait. But I'll live with it."

She leaned in and gave him a brief, soft kiss. "Thank you."

He looked down at the hand he held, at his mother's ring on her finger. They had come so far in just three months. Maybe he was getting greedy, wanting it all too fast. Three months. He couldn't fathom that it was really such a short time. It felt like they had been together forever. And he just wanted it to go on. He felt compelled to kiss her hand, so he did.

The touch of his lips in just that simple gesture reached her center. "Please don't take off like that on me again," she said with a hint of desperation in her voice. "It worried me. I was afraid I'd lost you there for a little bit."

"No...," he replied, touching her face. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry you spent so much money on the resort and everything."

"I owed you a weekend in Virginia Beach anyway." He smiled at her.

"You don't feel like it was all for nothing?"

He shook his head. "Are you kidding? It was a great weekend. Up till the last part."

"Yeah," she sighed, relaxing a little. "I guess we could think of it as a really expensive practice run."

"Yeah."

"You know..." she said, smiling at him suggestively, "we still have one night. You think we could we have a practice run at the honeymoon?"

He returned her smile with intent. She watched his shimmering brown eyes darken as he reached up to touch her face again. She closed her own eyes and sighed into his palm, turning slowly to kiss the inside of his thumb. He ran it along her bottom lip until she took it into her mouth. Her warm, wet lips made his heart race. He pressed his own lips to hers and plundered her mouth hungrily.

When he finally had to come up for air, he leaned his head against hers and said, "I'm sorry, Jane. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"As shocking as it was, what you said was the most... intense declaration of love I've ever heard." He could only smile at that. "Would it scare you if I said I feel the same way?"

"Nope," he said, pulling back to look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry too," she said. "About walking out like that."

He shook his head at her, lifting her hand with the ring on it again. "Doesn't matter now. We're engaged. We'll get there." She moved her hand to his face and he stroked her hair gently. "But tell your mom she'd better plan fast."

She kissed him quickly. "Shhhh," she said, "no more talking." She kissed him again, slow and deep and full of longing.

He turned and pushed her languidly down onto the bed. He sunk to one elbow beside her and deepened the kiss as he ran his long fingers from behind her ear, along her throat, back over her collar bone and down her arm in one long motion. When he reached her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers. All without ever breaking the kiss. She shivered under his touch and wrapped her free arm around him, pressing her body to him, wanting. Wanting. Finally, he drew back a little, smiling down at her so sensually that she had to bite her lip to hold on.

He pushed her little tank top up, exposing her bellybutton. Next she felt the full heat of his open palm flat on her abdomen, as he traced long, wet kisses down the path his hand had just taken. His fingertips brushed the underside of her breasts.

A deep moan began to build inside her, waiting for release. He turned his hand palm-up and ran the backs of his fingers across her tummy from one side to the other, then up and down. The sensation of his fingernails grazing her sensitive skin was incredibly tantalizing. She sighed and he slipped the tip of his middle finger into her bellybutton. She gasped and wriggled a little. He kissed her bellybutton then, and circled it with his tongue. She sucked in a sharp breath.

He leaned back again and looked in her eyes as he unbuttoned and then unzipped her white jean shorts. He glanced down and smiled as he committed to memory the sight of white shorts against her flush skin, open to reveal little pink satiny bikini briefs.

"Adam," she whispered breathlessly, "no teasing, OK? Please. Slow is good, but I can't take the teasing. Just come here." She reached for his arms and he lay down with her, enveloping her.

Maybe it wasn't their wedding night, but he was pretty sure he could still make it memorable.

* * *


	14. Confessions

_**Chapter 14**_  
**Confessions**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
First of all, what is up with you people? Not one review for Road Trip? Did no one like it? Were you all too shocked about what almost happened in the spur of the moment? Come on, people, give us some feedback! Please._

_About this chapter: It was only natural that this talk would have to happen. And that Joan and Will talk about Adam. Because to me there was always this vibe that Will never really liked Adam. Or that they never were on the same level somehow. I felt it important that this was addressed between him and Joan. And I'm glad it came out the way it did in the end._

_**Summary:**  
Will, Helen and Kevin find out about the road trip that Adam and Joan took to Virginia Beach._

_**Rated PG**_

_**Genre:**  
The same of what this story has had to offer so far: drama and fluff and tears and melancholy and joy and happiness. And a few surprises._

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool._

* * *

"Hi, Mom, it's me," Joan greeted her mother on the phone when she heard the familiar voice at the other end.

"Hey, honey, how was your weekend?" Helen replied cheerfully, putting down one of Will's sweaters that she had just been about to fold up on the armrest of the sofa.

"Oh, uhm... It was interesting," Joan said as she sat down on her couch and drew up her knees, leaning her back against the cushions.

"Interesting?" Helen asked. "How so?"

"Well, Adam and I went to Virginia Beach to get married."

There was stunned silence at the other end before Helen spoke, her voice incredulous. "What? You got married? That's... How? Why? Isn't it a little too soon for that?"

"I..." Joan started, not sure how to explain it. "It was a spontaneous thing. We both wanted to and then we just went—"

Helen interjected, "Are you pregnant?"

"What? No! We just wanted to get married."

"You don't just run off and get married one weekend, Joan!"

Joan tried to placate her mother. "Mom, wait. Don't get all upset, we didn't."

"You didn't what?"

"We didn't get married."

"You didn't get married?" Helen repeated. "I thought you said you did."

"No, Mom. We wanted to, but I backed out at the last minute. We just... well, to be honest, I remembered how you always wanted this big, fancy church wedding for me. And we were standing there, in this ugly little Justice Of The Peace office, and I realized that it was just... wrong. I knew how disappointed you'd be."

Helen's mind reeled. She was a jumble of feelings. Her little girl ran off to get married? And couldn't go through with it because of _her_? "H-how did Adam take it?"

"We got in a big fight. Of course he was upset. I left him at the altar. Well, it was more like a podium, but..."

"You left him?" Helen's voice got more urgent, as she wondered where these revelations ended. "Joan, you're dropping one bomb after another here."

"No, I didn't leave him. I'm not telling this right. I just... when I couldn't go through with it, he kind of blew up, which never really happens. But when he calmed down, we talked about it and we're still going to get married, just not right now. Not like that anyway. You're gonna have your fancy wedding, Mom. You can make all the arrangements, the church, the flowers, the food. You can just... go nuts."

"I'm sure I will," Helen said, a tearful smile coloring her voice. "Aw, baby... I don't know what to say. I'm happy for you, I really am. My little girl's gonna get married. Wait till your father hears about this."

Joan's voice was almost worried now. "Dad? Oh, I think he's gonna be crazy-mad at Adam. He never liked him that much in the first place. He's gonna think Adam abducted me to scheme me into becoming his wife."

"What? Why would you say that? Adam's a very sweet man, he would never do that."

"No, of course he wouldn't. I don't know. I just never got the vibe that Dad had a lot of respect for him."

In a soothing tone, Helen replied, "Oh, honey. That's not true. You should talk to your father about it. He likes Adam. Maybe he doesn't really... get him. But that doesn't mean he doesn't like him or doesn't respect him, Joan. Why don't you come over and we can talk about all this?"

Joan nodded, unseen to her mother. "Yeah, maybe I should. Hey, Mom, don't tell Dad yet, okay? I think I'd like to tell him in person."

"Are you gonna bring Adam?"

"No. I think he'd better stay home for this. You know, in case Dad decides to get out his gun."

Helen chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't let him. Can you come over right away? I was going to make lamb chops with red cabbage."

"Sold," Joan said, her mouth watering at the mere thought.

"Kevin said he might drop by too. It'd be nice to have a little spontaneous family reunion."

"I wish Luke was here," Joan admitted. "I kinda miss the geek. Never see him anymore."

"Same here," Helen sighed.

Joan felt the need to keep her mom from succumbing to melancholy. "Mom, I'll see you in half an hour."

"OK," Helen said, recovering slightly.

"Bye." Joan hung up the phone went to the bedroom to change into a clean pair of jeans and a top that looked a little nicer than her old but comfy t-shirt. She quickly sorted some dirty laundry to wash later and then made her way to her parents' house.

It was still weird for Joan to have to ring the doorbell of the house she had lived in for a good part of her late teens. The door was opened promptly by her mother, who greeted her with a warm smile on her face, pulling her into a hug.

She held on maybe a little too tightly, but she couldn't help feeling relieved that she had not yet lost her baby to the grown-up world of marriage and children and mortgages. When she finally let Joan go, she said, "My daughter is an engaged woman." She shook her head in disbelief.

"Yep," Joan smiled, holding her hand out so Helen could see her engagement ring.

Helen took her hand and held the ring close to get a good look at it. "It's so beautiful, Joan. And unusual. How did he afford this?"

"He didn't. It was his mother's." Joan watched her own mother's eyes well with tears. It touched her deeply that Helen so completely understood its significance.

Helen hugged her again. "Honey, if you don't marry that boy, I will."

Joan laughed though her own watery eyes and joked, "Maybe I should just step aside and let you two kids get on with it already."

Helen pushed her away teasingly and turned to head back to the kitchen. Joan followed her. The momentary feeling of weirdness that washed over her struck her once again as she sat down at the table. It was as if she was a stranger or at the very least a visitor in this house now, but everything was also uncannily familiar—the blue kitchen tiles, the warm yellow paint on the wall, her mom bustling around in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a delicious-looking dinner.

"Do you need any help?" Joan offered.

"It would be great if you could get your dad, I think he's in the study. Dinner's about to be served," Helen told her.

"Sure." Joan got up from the chair and sought out her father. He was sitting at the desk in the study, grumbling incoherently, oblivious to her presence in the doorway. "You're talking to yourself, should I start to worry?"

Will looked up, his face lighting up when he saw his daughter. "Joan, I didn't know you were coming over."

"Lamb chops and red cabbage, how could I resist?"

"So, you're just here for the food and not to see your old man?" he teased with a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"Why would I come over to see you? I lived with you for almost 20 years. Don't you think I'd be sick of seeing your face by now?" she taunted him right back, with a smile of her own. "Mom says dinner's ready."

Her father got up from his desk chair and walked over to her. When he sidled up to her, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "It's really great to see you, Daddy."

"'Daddy', huh? Haven't heard that in a while." He slung his arm around her waist and briefly pulled her to him in a fatherly embrace. "It's great to see you too."

Once seated at the dining room table, they joined hands and Will led them in a brief prayer of thanks. Then, they hungrily started shoveling food onto their plates and into their mouths. After a few bites, Joan asked, "Mom, didn't you say Kevin was coming over?"

Helen nodded. "Oh, he said he might be a little late and we should start without him. He was on assignment in DC today but he said he'd back in town by six or so. They've been working him like crazy lately."

"Yeah, I hardly ever hear from him anymore. He used to call every now and then," Joan said. "Is everything going okay with him and Lily?"

Helen washed down a bite of food with a sip of wine. "Last I heard, yes." Then she gave her daughter a pointed look, which Joan chose to ignore for the moment.

Instead of broaching the subject that Helen had been silently alluding to, Joan said, "So, how have you been, Dad?"

"Fine, fine. Same old routine." Will always tried to make light of his work around the family whenever he could. He figured his stories were either too disturbing or too boring to be polite dinner conversation. But as soon as he dismissed the topic, he instantly plunged into a lengthy anecdote about his new boss and his uncanny habit of using the word 'uh' at least twice in every sentence, sometimes even in between words. Even though Helen and Joan had never met this man he was describing, they knew exactly how he spoke by the time Will was done imitating him.

Small talk carried them all through dinner, Helen talking about school, Joan talking a bit about her job, carefully avoiding the subject of Adam.

When Helen served vanilla pudding with an assortment of red berries, Joan knew she couldn't hold back much longer. Unsure how to broach the subject, she said, "Oh, did I tell you, Adam and I went to Virginia Beach last weekend?"

Helen stayed quiet since she already knew that fact. Joan looked at her father to wait for his reaction.

He looked up at her, met her expectant eyes. He frowned for a moment, then said conversationally, "That's nice. Your mom and I used to go there once in a while. It really has grown up since those days. All those new resorts..."

"Yeah, we stayed at The Sands."

"Really?" Will smiled, impressed. "Adam must be doing all right for himself."

"In a honeymoon suite," Joan said tentatively, waiting to dodge a bullet from her dad.

Will stopped mid-bite and lowered his fork back down to his plate. "A what?" he managed to choke out.

"We went to Virginia Beach to get married."

He put both his hands firmly, but flatly on the table and calmed his voice before he spoke, "You and Adam got married?"

Even though he didn't seem to be as upset as she expected him to be, Joan went on the defense immediately. "Dad, before you get mad, we didn't go through with it."

"You didn't?"

"No," Joan sighed. "We—"

Just at that moment they heard noises from the corridor and a few seconds later, Kevin came wheeling into the dining room, greeting everyone in his usual cheerful tone, oblivious to the tense situation he'd just burst in on. "Hey, Mom, Dad. Joan, you're a sight for sore eyes." He wheeled closer to the table. "Do I smell lamb chops?"

Kevin wheeled to his spot at the table, which was already set for him. Helen poured him a glass of red wine and a glass of ice water, just as he always liked. He smiled at her and began filling his plate with food. "This looks amazing, Mom."

"Thank you," she smiled as she went back to eating, hoping Kevin's presence would diffuse things for now.

"So what have I missed?" Kevin asked after he'd ingested a few forkfuls of his dinner.

Very dryly, Will commented, "Well, apparently Joan and Adam eloped last weekend."

Kevin stopped dead in his tracks, the fork just shy of entering his mouth. "What?" he gaped.

"Yeah, but we didn't go through with it," Joan interjected quickly.

Will looked over at Helen, suspecting something. "Did you know about this?"

Helen looked slightly sheepish. "Not until today. We talked on the phone and she came over to explain."

Joan sighed again. "Yeah, look, I know it was crazy. It was just... I... we... You know, I should probably tell it from the beginning."

"I think that would be a good place to start," Will said sarcastically.

"Well, I thought we were just talking about moving in together, but last Wednesday, Adam asked me to marry him," Joan began. "I was shocked too, but only for a second. Mom, it was so beautiful, the things he said. I remember every word. I think I knew right then that it was meant to be." Helen smiled at her, silently urging her on. Joan glanced at her father and her brother before she continued. "What really did shock me was that he wanted to do it right away. He wanted to elope. And he was so cute and excited about it... I guess I got swept up in the fantasy. So we just did it. We packed our things and we went for it. We had this amazing, romantic weekend and then we were standing there on Sunday in front of a Justice Of The Peace and I just... couldn't do it."

When she finished, she found her mother sympathetic, her brother confused, and her father relieved.

"Well, that makes sense, Honey," Will said touching her hand. "You've only been together for—how long? Three or four months? It's a little too soon to make a lifelong commitment."

"Dad, you don't understand. I love Adam. I am absolutely certain that I wanna be with him for the rest of my life. We're still gonna get married. Just not right now."

"You're absolutely certain after just three months?"

"Yes," Joan said determinedly. "I didn't call it off because I have doubts about that. I was thinking about you, all of you guys."

"What are you talking about?"

"I decided that I want my family there with me when I marry the man I love."

Will had no reply to that.

With a hint of bitterness in her voice, she remarked, "You never really liked him, did you, Dad?"

Will was taken aback by that statement. "I never liked him? Why would you say that?"

"I... I don't know," Joan stammered. "Somehow, I've always had this feeling that you thought he wasn't, I don't know... worthy of me, or that you always imagined someone different for me. More... normal?"

Will's face fell while Kevin and Helen sat in stunned and uncomfortable silence. "Oh Honey, no," Will declared. "Adam is a good man, I know this. I'm a cop, so I'm a good judge of character. Maybe when you guys were kids, I wished you'd find someone a little more... ambitious. But he's grown up. He's successful. And he's good to you...?" He looked her firmly in the eye, just a hint of interrogation there.

She nodded. "He's wonderful to me."

Will nodded too. "Then, I'm sure he'll be a good husband."

Joan's eyes filled with tears, she quickly looked down. "Thank you, Daddy."

Helen finally spoke. "Have you set a date?"

Joan shook her head. "No, I wanted to talk it over with you first. We want to do it as soon as possible, but we want you to have the time you need to plan it."

"Well, that all depends on what kind of wedding you want."

"I want whatever you want, Mom. I want to do it in the Church, the way you always dreamed."

"Oh Honey, it's your wedding."

"Mom, I was going to marry him in this tiny little office with people older than you guys as witnesses. How I do it is not all that important to me. But it is important to_ you_."

Helen reached across the table and held Joan's hand as she fought back tears. "That's... well, this is gonna be really..."

"Intense," Joan smiled at her mother.

"Definitely."

"In the meantime, I think I'm gonna go ahead and move in with Adam."

"You are?" Helen asked.

"Well, yeah. I mean, he has this whole house to himself now and we're basically together every night anyway. Seems like a waste to spend all that money on my apartment." She looked around and found skepticism in the eyes of her mother and father.

But Kevin smiled at her. "Smart move, sis."

Joan weakly smiled back. "Yeah?"

His grin grew wider. "Yeah. And now the neighbors in your apartment building can get a good night's sleep again."

She gave him a good-natured slap on the upper arm. "Can it, gutter-brain!" She looked over at her parents, not sure what to expect from them. This was quite an evening of confessions and revelations.

Will fought to hide a bit of embarrassment as he tried hard not to think about his little girl having sex with Adam Rove. Or with anyone. Of course, he was young once, he knew what it meant to be wildly in love at 22. But still...

Helen's face bore a graver expression. "Honey, are you sure this is what you want? I mean, you said it yourself, you got caught up in his impulse to get married on the spur of the moment. Maybe you should slow down and think about it more seriously before you give up your apartment to move in with Adam."

Joan was quiet for a moment, then she said with conviction. "I know it all sounds a little harum-scarum. But we have thought a lot about it and we've talked about it. We're going crazy switching back and forth between his house and my apartment. I mean, why are we even doing it? We pretty much only go home for clean clothes and to water the plants. It doesn't make sense anymore."

Helen still seemed unconvinced, but she didn't say anything.

"What are you really worried about, Mom?"

"It's a big step. I just want you to be sure you're ready to live with him."

"I've known Adam for such a long time. I know his ways, how he thinks. And he knows me. Better than anybody ever has. We can make it work, I'm sure of that. It's what we both want. So tell me one good reason why I shouldn't do it."

No one moved to offer any reasons.

Joan looked at her mom, caught her eye. "Do you think it's wrong?"

Helen only shrugged, glancing quickly at Will. His face was unreadable.

"Mom, I'm giving you a Catholic wedding. But I never said I was going to live like a Catholic."

"We don't expect you to," Will said. "That's your choice."

After a long silence, Helen spoke up. "Joan, all I ever wanted for you in this world was that you'd be loved and happy and prosperous."

"I am," Joan declared.

"Then I'm happy too."

Joan got up and hugged her mother, over her shoulders.

"Do I get one?" Will asked. Joan gave him one of her familiar bear hugs from behind his chair. He kissed her cheek when she finally moved to go back to her seat, wiping a tear from her eye.

When neither Joan or Helen spoke, Will asked, "When do you think you'll start moving your stuff?"

Helen had to hide a quick smile. "Oh no. You're just waiting to get out those toolboxes and play handyman. May I remind you about the door to the laundry room? Or Kevin's old car? Or the kitchen sink? No way I'm going to let you do that to Adam's house."

Will drew a mock pouting face. "Ingratitude. That's what you get when you offer to help."

"Don't worry, Dad," Kevin said. "I'm sure Joan wouldn't object to her father helping to carry everything down four flights of stairs."

Will groaned. "Don't remind me. I was the one carrying all that stuff up there, remember? Well, not all of it, but my personal nightmare was the sofa. That big, bulky thing. You're not going to leave it in the apartment, by any chance?"

Joan gave him a 'you're kidding' look. "My sofa? My beloved sofa? No way I'm leaving that."

"Hmmmm, I think I may have a very important business trip coming up right about the time you're probably planning to move," Will fabricated, watching Helen, Joan and Kevin laugh at him.

Slowly, a feeling of relief spread over Joan. Things were turning out all right. Her dad hadn't gone ballistic. And her mom wasn't going to put her foot down about the idea of her daughter "living in sin" with her fiancé. It was as close as she was going to get to an official blessing. And it was enough. She hadn't told Luke yet, but she was sure he'd be happy for her. And Adam. Aside from her mom, Luke was the one who knew Adam best. She hoped that they would become even closer, once they were brothers-in-law.

And just like that, new tears sprang into Joan's eyes, tears of relief and joy and happiness. This was really happening! All she wanted to do was drive over to Adam's house, run into his arms and tell him right away.

She blinked before the tears could fall and got up from the table. "Excuse me for a minute."

She left the dining room with her pudding only half eaten and went upstairs, to her old room. Now that all three kids were out of the house, their rooms had been remodeled. Joan and Kevin's rooms had been turned into guest rooms and Luke's attic room was now Helen's art studio and retreat.

Joan took her cell phone out of her purse and dialed Adam's number, sitting down on the desk chair.

He answered after the fourth ring. As soon as he had said 'Hello' she blurted, "Adam, it's happening. I'll move in and we'll get married and my mom will plan it all and my dad will walk me down the aisle. It's really gonna happen!"

"Slow down, Jane," he told her. "Where'd that come from?"

"I'm at my parents' place and we talked about everything and they're okay with it. I mean, they were a little surprised... but they're really okay with it. Isn't that great news?"

"Yeah," he said happily. "It is. I thought we were gonna tell them together."

"I called my mom just to talk and it kinda slipped out about where we were over the weekend. She insisted that I come over and talk about it in person. I would've asked you come, but my dad, you know... he can be a little intense sometimes. I just didn't know how he'd react." In a more joking tone, she added, "I thought he might pull his gun on you when I told him we almost eloped. And what good is a dead fiancé to me?"

"So am I still in danger? Should I get a bulletproof vest or something?"

She laughed. "No, you're in the clear. As long as you go through with it and make an honest woman of me."

"Promise... So, are you gonna come over after?" he asked in a deep, alluring voice.

"Do you want me to?"

"You know I do, Jane."

It was tough to resist that voice. But she wasn't sure what time she was going to leave her folks' house. She sighed into the phone. "Baby, I want to. But I'm exhausted. And I know you are too. I think we both need to catch up on some sleep. We've been going on barely five hours a night for over a week. We'll be zombies at work if we don't get some rest."

"What if I promise we'll rest?"

"Adam," she said, fighting a smile, "you know the chances of that happening, right?"

He smiled on his end of the phone, too. "Yeah..."

"Besides, I have a stack of bills at home that need to be paid. I'll see you after work tomorrow night, okay? We can start making plans about me moving in."

"Okay," he reluctantly agreed. "I'll see you tomorrow night then."

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too." And it wasn't just a routine phrase; they both meant it, from the bottom of their hearts.

* * *


	15. Deep Black :: Part 1: Revelations

_**Chapter 15a  
**_**Deep Black - Part 1: Revelations**

_by Sisterdebmac & TeeJay_

* * *

_**Sisterdebmac's Author's Note:**  
This is an angsty one. Hence the title. Prepare yourself. It will lighten up a little toward the end of the chapter and there will be smut, though not of the usual fluffy kind. I should also say that this fic was inspired in almost equal measure by Chris Marquette's magnificent tear ducts and the recent appearance of ubiquitous face fuzz. Sometimes, you get a really offbeat idea and you just go for it. I'm not usually as fond of angst as I am of fluff, but I wanted intense for this one. And thanks to TeeJay, I got it._

_This chapter will be broken down into four parts. We will try not to keep you hanging for too long in between the parts._

_**TeeJay's Author's Note:**  
This is what happens when you want to pay homage to the King of Man-Crying (a.k.a. Chris Marquette). He's totally earned that title, and there is just no way resisting his incredible power with the emotions. This one gets so very angsty, guys. Hold on to your hats. It has tear-jerking potential._

_Some words about the genesis of this one, because it's special, as the chapters of this story go. Because this was Deb's own thing at first. She kept telling me bits and pieces, and I just melted at outlines of the scenarios she threw at me. There were my infamous scene flashes about odd moments from this chapter in my brain, and once those happen, they demand being written down. So I jotted down two scenes and sent them to Deb. And she said they were great, she was gonna use them._

_We kept talking about what she had in mind for the rest of this chapter, and then, one Friday and again Sunday night (well, afternoon for Deb—what with the time difference), we sat down in Yahoo Messenger and wrote the most crucial scene of this chapter together. It was amazing. We kept feeding off each other. It was a wild ride, a stomach-knotting experience for me. I'm still in awe._

_So, I hope it's gonna be just as intense for you readers as it was for me as an author/beta-reader. Isn't it great when two authors totally compliment each other? _

_Oh, and there will be another smutty deleted scene at the end. If you enjoy that kind of stuff, make sure to check the M rated section here on FFN.  
_

**_Synopsis:_**_  
Adam finds a letter written by his mother to his father when he was five years old. The revelations within make him wonder if his mother could've been saved—and if he really knew his father as well as he thought he did. Meanwhile, Joan is dealing with her own fears._

_**Rating for Part 1 – PG-13 **for language._

_**Disclaimer:** They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah._

* * *

The hardwood floor of the master bedroom was cluttered with boxes, and right in the middle of the clutter, there was Adam, sitting cross-legged, sorting through piles of old papers and pictures. He'd been at it for hours. It was his goal to get all of his father's things properly filed away, or thrown out as the case might be. He was in the process of moving Joan into the house with him and it was going slowly. He had a lot of things to clear out or store, and they were trying to get it done as seamlessly as possible while juggling their schedules.

They rented a PODS container and moved over all of the furniture they were keeping from her apartment. The container sat in the driveway as they worked on the transition, mostly over weekends. So far, they had donated Adam's parents' bed and moved Joan's much larger, much newer one into the master bedroom. They were already sleeping in there, even though the room hadn't been completely cleared out yet. This was his first order of business. He wanted a room that would belong to him and Joan. Together.

Joan entered the room and touched the top of his head affectionately as she passed by on her way to the bathroom. "I thought you were gonna knock off for the night," she said.

He stretched his shoulders and rolled his neck around to loosen a crick that was forming there. "I am," he smiled up at her. "I just want to finish this box. Give me ten more minutes."

"OK, but lights out after that. We still have work tomorrow."

He nodded and watched her disappear into the bathroom. He shifted another bundle of insurance-related documents into the box marked_IMPORTANT PAPERS_, and reached back into the box for the last little stack of... what? Letters? That's what they looked like. There were several of them—some on flowery feminine stationery, some in plain white business envelopes. Others had no envelopes at all. He unfolded the first letter he came to.

It was dated, June 10, 1993. It was from County General hospital, written to inform Carl Rove that his mental health insurance for outpatient treatment had been maxed out for the calendar year. It said the hospital would require payment in full for any further outpatient visits for Elizabeth Rove under this diagnosis. Or admission and a new diagnosis.

Harsh, but not surprising. Adam was sure it was always a hardship for his parents, trying to manage the cost of the care that his mother sometimes needed.

He flipped through a few more of the documents and found quite a bit of correspondence about payments and treatments and medications all dated around the same time. He wondered why his father would keep this stuff. It was meaningless now. He tossed these letters into the trash bag that lay on the floor near him.

He knew he was supposed to be wrapping things up for the night, but he couldn't resist opening one of the letters on the flowered stationery that he felt must have belonged to his mother. The first letter was very brief. It was penned in a firm, round hand that he immediately recognized as hers.

It was undated and it simply said, "Hi Hon, Adam and I are going to my mother's for the afternoon. Didn't want to wake you after the long night you had. I left some of the pasta salad you like in the fridge for you. Maybe you can make a sandwich to go with it? We should be back by six or so. Love you! E".

Adam smiled as he refolded the note and slipped it back inside the envelope. He laid it atop a small stack of pictures he had found that he planned to put in the album when time permitted.

There were a few other little notes like that. Some of them were what one might consider "love notes". A couple had little sketches on them. Each one was like a new treasure to Adam, a tiny snap-shot of his mother's affection for him and for his father. He placed each of those with the photos to be saved with the other remembrances.

At the bottom of the box, he found one last letter. It was in a plain white business envelope and had a thickness to it that led Adam to believe it might just be more forms from the hospital. He was getting tired so he almost tossed it into the trash bag. But something told him that like all the other envelopes, he'd better look inside this one too. Just to make sure it was nothing important.

He slipped the letter out and found it to be several pages long. Unfolding it, he recognized his mother's handwriting again. But there was something different about it. It was bigger, bolder and contained lots of scribbles over mistakes. Just a glance at it was unsettling. He knew immediately that she was not OK when she wrote this letter. The knot that was growing in his stomach almost convinced him not to read it. But on some level, he knew he had to.

He could hear Joan in the bathroom brushing her teeth as he began to read,

_"Carl,_

_What you did last night was inexcusable. I don't know why I'm still sitting here in this house. Yes, I do. Because Adam's at school and I won't pull him out of there and scare him. But I want to be gone from this place. Is that enough? I can barely hold the pen right now, I'm so angry with you. But more than that, I'm afraid. And I won't live in fear. I won't have my son live in fear. You are damn lucky he wasn't here. If he'd seen you, we would be gone already. I want you to understand that. Make no mistake, if you ever hit me again, I will take Adam and leave and you will never see either of us again."_

Adam froze. What the fuck? He read that last sentence again. It just wouldn't register. He couldn't imagine it. He was suddenly inundated with memories of arguments he'd overheard between his parents. Once, when he was about nine, he remembered seeing his mother throw a plate at his father. But it missed so badly that it actually made both Carl and Elizabeth laugh—right in the middle of the fight. No way he could picture his dad hitting his mom.

But there it was, on paper, in her own hand. He couldn't deny it. Just as he started to read on, Joan came back into the room. Without even thinking about it, he folded the letter, stuffed it back into the envelope and put it in the box of papers he was saving. It wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Joan. He didn't even want to think about it. Though he was certain that for now, he would do little else.

"Ready for bed?" she asked him as she turned the covers back. He didn't move at first. She stepped into his line of vision. "Hey, you OK?"

He looked up at her quickly, still distracted by his mother's puzzling revelation. "What?"

"Are you ready to go to bed?" she repeated.

"Yeah, uh..." He stood up. "I'll be there in a minute."

She nodded and slid under the covers. "Get the lights when you come back, OK?"

He went into the bathroom without responding, and closed the door behind him. He looked at himself in the mirror, but he saw nothing. He splashed cold water on his face, but he felt nothing. His mind was years away. In 1993, he would've been only five, in kindergarten. Even with an eidetic memory, he couldn't recall anything like what his mother was describing that far back. But then, she said in the letter that he wasn't there when it happened.

Yes, his parents had some very colorful arguments. But most of them ended quickly and they never seemed to stew about whatever caused the rift for very long. Truth be told, he had mostly good memories of the three of them together in their little house. At least right up until the very end when Elizabeth was coming apart but she wouldn't let anyone help her. He suddenly wondered what might have been if she had left his father before things got so bad. Was it possible that she would still be alive?

He turned away from the mirror and quickly brushed his teeth before going back into the bedroom and turning off all the lights. He crawled silently into bed beside Joan and felt her immediately turn over to snuggle up to him. Even though it made no sense, he didn't want to be touched at that moment. He pulled away as carefully as he could and said, "I'm really tired, OK? Let's just go to sleep."

She withdrew, growing more baffled and concerned over his abrupt mood change by the minute. But maybe he _was_ only tired. The last few weeks had been crazy. Maybe it was starting to catch up with him. "OK." She leaned over just to give him a kiss goodnight, but he turned over. "Adam, are you all right?"

"Yeah," he rolled back over enough so that she could give him a quick peck on the lips. "I'm just a little achy from sitting on the floor all night."

She nodded and watched him turn away again.

* * *

When the sky began to lighten the next morning, Adam lay awake. It was a rough night of fitful dreams and waking up every half hour. Of being flooded with images from his childhood. Of fretting over how anything so terrible could have happened. He looked over at Joan and was relieved to find that she was still sound asleep.

He slipped out of bed cautiously and went to the closet. He took out a pair of slacks and a gray shirt and went to the chest of drawers where he withdrew a pair of socks. He picked up his shoes and went into the bathroom.

As quietly as possible, he got dressed. With toothbrush in hand, he exited the bathroom and silently crossed the bedroom to get the letter from the box where he had left it. Then he slipped downstairs to the half bath where it would be safer to relieve himself and brush his teeth without waking Joan.

He tried to keep his mind off that letter, off what it said and implied, but it just wouldn't budge from where it was lodged in his memory. It was as if he was working on autopilot; he might have brushed one row of teeth twice and the other not at all because he couldn't even concentrate on the most basic of routine activities.

He rarely ate in the morning, but this morning especially the sheer thought of food made his stomach turn.

There was not a soul in the office when he got to work. It stayed that way for almost a full hour. He sequestered himself in his cubicle and sat there, fingering the envelope containing the letter and staring through his computer screen until people started arriving.

For most of the morning, he just went through the motions. He made himself busy but he couldn't focus on anything well enough to get any real work done.

Around 10 AM, Joan called him on his cell. Overcoming the impulse to just disconnect her with the push of a button, he answered and she immediately started with questions he was not prepared to answer. He told her he was too busy to talk. She might have tried to hide her worry, but it still registered with him. He pushed it aside. There were bigger things going through his head right now.

At lunch, he went to the park. The burger he had picked up on his way sat next to him on the bench, untouched, as he stared at the envelope, trying to work up the courage to read the rest of the letter.

A few mothers passed, holding their little kids in their arms or pushing them in strollers or walking beside them and holding their hands. He glanced over to where the playground was to see still more moms pushing their children on swings or catching them at the bottom of the slide. He wondered if any of these little boys and girls knew how lucky they were. He felt silly for still being afraid of his mother's words after all these years. He took a sip of his soda and opened the letter.

_"...if you ever hit me again, I will take Adam and leave and you will never see either of us again."_

He closed his eyes after reading that awful sentence again. Images flashed before his mind's eye, and suddenly he wished he hadn't been looking at so many photos of them the night before. At that moment, he really didn't want to see them so clearly, as visions of this event began to form. He shook his head against them and forced himself to go back to the letter. Maybe there was an answer in there somewhere.

By the time he got to the bottom of the first page, his throat was closing up as he fought tears. He couldn't do this—not here, not in public like this. He stood up and when his eyes fell onto the burger lying next to him on the bench, still wrapped in paper, he was overcome by a brief feeling of nausea, his stomach clenching even more so. He threw it and the rest of the drink into the nearest trash can and hurried back to his car.

Inside, he tried and failed to compose himself. But even as his hands shook and tears streamed down his face, he forced himself to finish reading. It was rambling and repetitive and so sad and angry. He thought again how different this was from the other things she had written to his father. And it painted a picture of Carl that was nothing like the man he thought he knew.

For the rest of the day at work, he was a zombie. He stayed in his cubicle as much as he could, kept his head down and avoided engaging in conversation.

At one point his colleague Christine came over, lightly touching his shoulder. "Hey, are you OK?" she inquired. "You've been staring at that screen for the past fifteen minutes."

He quickly swiveled his chair around to face her. "Yeah, I just didn't sleep too well last night. Guess I was just zoning out," he said, quickly thinking up an excuse. But it wasn't really an excuse. He hadn't slept.

"Trouble at home?"

Yeah, you could say that. Just not the kind of trouble he thought she might have in mind. "No, it's... it's a long story," he said in a way that it made it clear that he wasn't going to elaborate any further.

No one at work knew about this mother. A couple of people he was close to knew she had passed away, but no one knew how. No one knew about her illness. They all knew about his dad. They'd been wonderfully sympathetic. Still, there was no one in his office with whom he could or would share what was bothering him today.

He felt Christine's worried gaze lingering on him for a moment before she said, "If you need any help or if there's anything I can do, let me know, OK?"

He forced a smile. "Thanks, but I'm OK."

She just nodded and left him in his cubicle. He rubbed his face in his hands, feeling the scratchiness of his unshaven chin in his palms. His inability to concentrate was already registering with his co-workers. How long before the boss noticed? But he just couldn't fake being happy today. More than once, he thanked God it was Friday.

* * *

"Hey, baby," Joan said as she entered the living room, finding Adam lying on the couch when she got home from work. The television was on. It looked like some kind of trial on Court TV. Why he was watching that, she had no idea.

"Hey," he greeted her without his usual enthusiasm.

Joan's brow furrowed. He was laying around in his work clothes? He never did that. He hated ironing so he tried to keep them as neat as possible between wearing and washing and wearing them again. And this crap on the TV? He always went on about how he hated this exploitative junk.

"When did you get home?" she asked, trying to make conversation.

"I don't know. An hour ago?"

"You hungry? Have you eaten?" When she didn't get a reply, she addressed him by name. "Adam?"

"Hm?" came his absent-minded reply.

What was going on here? He was even more mono-syllabic than usual. "I was asking if you'd already eaten."

"No," he simply replied.

"OK, then I'll make us something real quick. What do you feel like? I think we still have some chicken. I could make some stir-fry with rice. What do you think?" She was already mentally chopping the meat and adding the ingredients.

Again, there was no reply from him. In a jokingly chipper voice, she addressed him again. "Hello? Earth to planet Rove. Chicken stir-fry? That tickle your fancy?"

"Yeah," he said slightly annoyed now, not very interested or enthused. "Whatever."

She wrinkled her forehead. _Whatever?_ She mentally shrugged. He would change his mind, once the smell of a home-cooked meal was wafting through the air.

She quickly went up to the bedroom to change out of her work clothes into something more comfortable. She was puzzled once again by the sight that greeted her. All the boxes he had been trying to sort through were now simply shoved into a corner, like he had no plans to touch them again.

Dressed in a pair of old jeans and a tank top, she went back downstairs. He was still on the sofa, that goofy court show still going on. She sat down on the sofa, next to where his feet lay curled up slightly.

"What's going on?" she gently inquired, touching his leg affectionately, rubbing it a little. "What happened to those boxes upstairs? Are you mad at me? Did I do something?"

His eyes were suddenly on her, glaring intently. It was as if her touching him was making him uncomfortable. "Not everything is always about you," he told her huffily.

Stunned, she removed her hand and separated their physical connection as she got up. OK, that was weird. But maybe he was just having a bad day. Maybe he just needed some space to figure it out. It would pour out of him eventually. He was like that, he would brood over it for a while and open up eventually.

She tried not to be angry or offended. "I'll let you know when dinner's ready."

Not surprisingly, he didn't answer, but she hadn't expected him to. She closed the door to the kitchen behind her, leaving him to himself. She hoped they would have a chance to talk about what was bothering him over dinner.

Trouble was, Adam didn't want any dinner. When she tried to ply him with tenderness, he excused himself and went upstairs, stripped down to a t-shirt and boxers and crawled into bed.

* * *

Saturday morning, Joan got up a little before 9 AM, put on sweats and a t-shirt, tied her hair back and started working around the house. She gave Adam until 11 AM to sleep in, but he never emerged. She went back upstairs to find him still lying in bed.

"Hey," she said gently, shaking his shoulder a little, "it's getting really late. You about ready to get up?"

He rolled over and looked at her. "Not really."

"Why? You feel sick or something?"

"No, I just don't feel like getting up right now."

"Well," Joan grinned at him suggestively, "if you're gonna stay in bed, so am I." She climbed onto the bed, halfway on top of him.

"Don't, OK? I'm not in the mood."

She wrapped one leg around him. "You're always in the mood in the morning." She reached under the covers and touched him to find that was telling the truth.

"See?" he said.

"I think we could take care of that—"

He moved her hand away. "Jesus, Joan, it's about more than an erection."

"Fine," she said, hurt and even a little embarrassed by the rebuff. "Suit yourself." She got up and backed away from the bed. "We've got a lot of work to do around the house today, so... if you ever decide to get up, maybe you can help me."

When he saw the confusion in her eyes, he caved a little. "OK, I'll get up." He rose to a sitting position.

She nodded and left him there. Downstairs, she felt tears stinging her eyes. What the hell had happened that he didn't want her anymore? That she was just Joan to him? She leaned against the back of the sofa for support as she tried to figure out what was going on. Whatever it was that was bothering him, it wasn't going away on its own.

He came downstairs in a t-shirt and sweatpants, still disheveled, still unshaven. He stopped at the bottom step when he saw her leaning there, near tears. "I'm sorry, Jane. I guess I don't feel very sexy right now," he said, seemingly indicating his appearance.

"You're always sexy to me," she whispered in response. She gave him a long, soulful look and went into the kitchen.

He shuffled off to follow her. "Can we just get on with whatever you want me to do around here?"

She could tell that he had no intention of engaging with her in conversation or anything else. He was looking for mindless chores that would keep him occupied and out of her way. "I'm gonna clean out these cabinets. You can start moving the boxes with my kitchen stuff in here."

"What are you gonna do with my mother's good china?" he asked, suddenly feeling a little weird about how drastic a make-over Joan seemed to want to give the house.

"Her stuff's way nicer than mine, so we'll display it in the cabinet where it should be. We'll keep my stuff for daily use and get rid of all this plastic stuff you and your dad accumulated. Honestly, what is it with men and mismatched plastic dishes? No matter who's house you're in, if there's a man, there's a ton of this junk." She grabbed what looked like an old butter tub from the counter and tossed it into the trash.

He just shrugged and turned to go get to work. When he finished with the kitchen boxes, she gave him a few more things to do. After that, they didn't say a word to each other for two hours.

Finally, on one of his trips inside with a box, she asked, "I'm gonna take a break and make sandwiches, what kind do you want? There's ham and roast beef."

"I'm not really hungry."

"But it's after two and you haven't had anything. No dinner last night, not even coffee this morning."

"I'll make something later on. You go ahead and eat."

He was back out the door before she could say anything else.

Aside from grunting out a yea or nay to a few questions or directions from her, he barely spoke at all for the rest of the day. She couldn't figure it out. A couple of nights ago, he was fine. They both had an OK day at work. Over dinner, they both yammered on about this "reclamation" idea he had about the house. The way he described it was like art to her. She looked forward to every long day and all the hard work they would put into the place together. They had even started off the day in their favorite way—something he was just flat out not interested in today. Or yesterday.

She knew she had been too pushy, just taking hold of him like that. She felt a little ashamed when she realized he would never do that to her if she said no. She wanted to apologize, but she wasn't sure how. Dammit, there had to be a way to snap him out of this.

Her tummy growled and she looked at her watch. It was six thirty. Dinner time. He still hadn't eaten, as far as she knew. She looked around the house at the progress they'd made and mentally cataloged everything they had yet to do. How was it that now they were living together and she felt she so alone?

A thought came to her. Maybe she could get a smile out of him if she ordered in Giorgio's Pizza for dinner, like she had the first time they worked around this house together. The first time they made love.

She was upstairs cleaning up when the doorbell rang. He had already collapsed in a heap on the couch. "Adam, that's dinner. Will you get it?"

He reluctantly dragged himself up and answered the door.

"Giorgio's Deluxe for Rove," the delivery guy said. "That's 17.50."

"I don't have any money. Hang on," he leaned up the stairs. "Jane? I think my wallet's up there somewhere."

"Just get it out of my purse. It's in the kitchen."

He held a finger up to the guy to ask him to wait and shuffled off on bare feet into the kitchen. He returned with a 20 bill and gave it to the pizza guy.

By then time he sat it down on the coffee table, she was padding downstairs, also barefoot, wearing only a tiny white tank top and baby blue boxers, her hair now loose around her shoulders. "Thank God, I am starving." She went straight for the pizza. "Will you go get plates and a couple of sodas or something?"

He scratched his head, leaving some of his hair sticking straight up, and headed off to the kitchen. She smiled, watching him go, thinking that he was still adorable, even if he was grungy and moody. "And bring napkins!" She took a very generous bite of the pizza slice and sat down on the sofa.

He returned with one plate, one Coke and one napkin. She gaped at him. "You're kidding me, right? You're not gonna have any? This is Giorgio's—"

"I know what it is," he said very softly, but very deliberately. "I know what you're doing. I told you I'm not hungry and I'm not in a very romantic mood. And I know I'm being an asshole. I'm sorry. I just really need to be left alone right now."

"But why?" she pleaded.

He just put the plate, napkin and soda down on the coffee table, turned and walked back upstairs, where he fell back into bed.

Joan wondered how many votes she would get on the crying-while-eating website if she had someone there to videotape her.

_to be continued..._

* * *


	16. Deep Black :: Part 2: Frustrated Inc

_**Chapter 15b**_  
**Deep Black - Part 2: Frustrated Incorporated**

_by Sisterdebmac & TeeJay_

* * *

**_Authors' Note:_**  
_This is an angsty one. Hence the title. Prepare yourself. It will lighten up a little toward the end of the chapter.  
_

_**Synopsis for Chapter:**  
Adam finds a letter written by his mother to his father when he was five years old. The revelations within make him wonder if his mother could've been saved—and if he really knew his father as well as he thought he did. Meanwhile, Joan is dealing with her own fears._

_**Synopsis for Part 2: **Joan seeks help in dealing with Adam's weird withdrawal. _

_**Rating for Part 2: PG **for language._

_**Disclaimer:** They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah._

* * *

Joan had never heard of the band called "Fuel" before she got to know Adam. And at first she thought their stuff was maybe a little too hard for her taste, but she grew to love it. She leafed through their six albums before she chose one and put it into the kitchen CD player. Fuel always seemed to cheer Adam up, even though their music and lyrics weren't exactly light and cheerful. It just got under his skin somehow.

The scrambled eggs were almost done, she had toast and bagels prepared in a basket with a red cloth napkin, she'd even spread the ham and cheese slices on plates for presentation purposes. She'd made a plate of sliced fruit. The coffee was ready and she contemplating French Toast too.

She carried an assortment of jam to the table, putting it with the peanut butter. She had no idea what Adam would feel like, but she was inclined to offer him as wide a variety of choices as she could this morning. Maybe she was going overboard but she felt compelled to try to do something about whatever it was that had been dragging him down the last two days. He hadn't eaten for so long. Maybe he'd feel better if she could get some food in him.

She switched off the stove and went into the bedroom where Adam still lay in bed. "Hey," she addressed him. "Breakfast is ready."

He looked at her with dull, lifeless eyes and mumbled, "I'm not hungry."

"Broken record much?" She tried not to be irritated by his apparent disinterest. "Come on, I made scrambled eggs. You have to be hungry by now. I can make French Toast too, if you like."

He closed his eyes again. "I said I'm not hungry, OK?" His voice was listless.

Joan didn't know what to do or say. "Come on, it's all set and everything. At least have some coffee. Please," she begged. She hoped that the smell of the freshly cooked breakfast would convince him to have something. Her words hung in the air without a reply from him. Now irritated, she said, "Adam, you can't lay in bed all day. It's already eleven AM."

"It's Sunday," he replied, as if that would justify everything.

"Yes, it's Sunday. And we were gonna go to Lowe's to get curtain rods for the guest room and the shelf I want for the kitchen, remember?"

"Yeah," he muttered.

She couldn't stand it any longer, so she went over to him, drew the covers back, took his hands and physically dragged him up. "Come on, get up, slacker."

He did sit up and made a move to get out of bed. _At last!_ Joan thought. She watched him trudge into the bathroom and she called after him, "If I don't see you in the kitchen in a few minutes, you're in trouble."

She wasn't surprised not to get a reply as she left him to go back to the kitchen. Adam came in a while later, wearing only his boxers and the crumpled white t-shirt that he had worn for days. He also still hadn't shaved, she noticed. He sat down in his seat at the table and Joan poured him some coffee. He was so... still, just sitting there, staring at his hands. It really worried her. How could she get him to cheer up, get him to talk to her?

She poured some coffee into her own mug and sat down opposite him, adding milk and sugar to the hot drink. As she stirred it with a teaspoon, she looked at him. His eyes were on his coffee mug, but he didn't drink from it. He didn't even seem to see it.

Her voice was more urgent when she addressed him, "Adam, something's bothering you, what is it? Don't you think it would help to talk about it?"

He quickly met her eyes, then looked down again. "It's nothing."

"It's not _nothing_. You've been crabby for two days. And it's getting really stale. Why won't you talk to me?"

"Because I don't wanna talk, OK?" he said more forcefully than he maybe should have.

"At least have some toast with your coffee. You gotta eat. Here," she held the basket with the bagels and toast out to him.

Instead of taking any, he got up and went over to the CD player to switch it off before he sat back down at the table, putting his hands around his mug without a word. That irked Joan. She grabbed a bagel from the basket and cut at it like it was a voodoo doll. In her petulance, she didn't pay enough attention and the sharp knife went straight through the bagel and into her finger.

"Dammit," she hissed and got up to get a paper towel and assess the damage.

Adam didn't react. What was the hell was going on with him? She could've cut her finger off and he just sits there? And after she had put so much effort into making a lovely, thoughtful breakfast, he didn't even acknowledge any of it. She fumbled with her finger. The cut wasn't deep; a band-aid would take care of it.

When she came back from the bathroom freshly bandaged, Adam was gone, the coffee and the rest of the food left untouched. She picked up his mug and felt a strong impulse to hurl it across the room in frustration. Instead she went over to the sink, carelessly letting the mug slip from her hand those last few inches, so that it clattered into the metal basin with a loud clang.

She sat back down at the table. She wasn't hungry anymore either, but she also didn't want to throw away all the food she cooked. She listlessly grabbed the bagel and piled some scrambled eggs onto her plate, eating without even tasting anything. She had only downed a few bites when she felt hot, angry tears stinging in her eyes. What the hell was she supposed to do? She just couldn't stand seeing Adam like that. Maybe she could think of something else that might cheer him up, if she could get past her own disappointment and frustration.

She wiped at her eyes and sniffled her nose. Taking a sip from her mug with coffee helped. She relished the slightly bitter taste of it in her mouth. She whispered, "Adam, please let me in," only too aware of the fact that he couldn't hear her, wherever he had vanished to.

* * *

With no idea what else to do, Joan called in the cavalry. She dialed the phone and when she got an answer, it all poured from her, "Grace, I need you. Something's wrong with Adam and I don't know how to help him."

"What are you talking about, Girardi?"

Grace softly but determinedly pushed at her girlfriend, Karen who was nuzzling her neck affectionately as Grace held the phone to her other ear. Somehow they had only managed to make it from the bed to the couch this morning because they knew they wouldn't have time to themselves again until later that night.

Karen pouted as she retreated to give Grace some space when she realized that Grace was not going to give in to her games.

Joan went on, "He won't talk to me. He's been like this for days. He says it has nothing to do with me, but I'm not sure I believe that. I mean, we're trying to move my stuff in here and set up the house and he just flakes. All he's done the last few days is lay around. I can't even get him to eat."

Grace could hear the worry in her voice; she sounded just shy of desperate. Joan sometimes had a knack for exaggerating, but it sounded like there was genuine reason for concern here. Still, she knew Adam well enough to tell her, "Well, you know you can't force him to talk when he doesn't want to. I don't know what you think _I_ can do."

Joan paced the kitchen, the door to the living room was closed so she was sure Adam wasn't listening in. She tried not to sound too pathetic when she said, "Can you just come over? Maybe you can talk to him alone and at least find out if I did something to piss him off."

"I really don't wanna get in the middle of some lover's spat. Not again."

Joan could certainly understand that. Grace had been uncomfortably stuck there more than once. Joan knew she hated it. But she really did need Grace. No one knew Adam better. "It's not like that. At least I don't think so. Please, I'm running out of ideas here," Joan begged.

"When do you want me to come by?"

"Now would be good." Joan paused for a moment, realizing how demanding that sounded. How could she expect Grace to just drop everything and come running to help out? Silently, she hoped Grace would.

"Karen and I have plans this afternoon."

Joan's face fell. "Can't you bring her? I promise I won't keep you long."

Realizing she had little choice, Grace caved. She and Karen were at the house within an hour. Joan gave them both a grateful hug at the door. "Thank God you're here."

Grace looked at her sheepishly, "What's this all about?"

Joan stepped aside and gestured to the lump on the sofa. Grace looked at him and then back at Joan. He was a mess all right. And he didn't even look up when they approached him.

"That's a good look for you, Rove. Dumpster-chic," Grace said as she stood before him. Karen lingered next to Joan, behind the couch.

He looked up at her briefly, then his gaze settled back on the TV. "Don't feel much like hanging out right now, Grace," he mumbled.

"I can see that," she replied. She gave Joan and Karen a little nod and Joan took that to mean they should give her a moment alone with him. They went into the kitchen. When they were gone, Grace pushed his feet off the sofa so she could sit down. He sat up and scooted over against the arm, as far away from her as he could get.

"So..." Grace started.

"So, what?"

"So spill. What crawled up your ass and died?"

"Nice," he said sarcastically.

"Sorry, dude, but that's what it smells like. You're pretty gamey." She could see why Joan was so worried about him.

"Did she call you?" he asked, his voice weary.

Grace only nodded.

"Well, no offense, but it's really none of your business."

"I've been offended by far smellier men than you, my friend," she joked, shrugging off his huffiness. "Listen, I tried to tell her it wasn't my place to kick your butt. For some reason, she thinks I've got some kind of magic power over you or something."

He was not amused. "Tell her she's wrong."

"You tell her, dude." Grace was getting worried too. This wasn't him. "Hell, tell her anything, just talk to her. She's pretty wigged out."

"I'm sorry she bothered you. I'm fine." He got up and went into the half bath, slamming the door behind him.

Grace just sat there for a few seconds. She was at a loss. If he didn't want to talk, he wasn't going to. Simple as that. She knew from years of experience that it was useless to try to force the issue. She got up and went into the kitchen.

Joan and Karen looked up at her from where they sat at the kitchen table.

"Any luck?" Joan asked hopefully as soon as Grace entered.

Grace shook her head. "But we could at least take him out back and hose him down, see if that'd make you feel any better. Seriously, you're sleeping with that stink?"

Joan sighed. "I think I'm getting used to it. How sad is that?"

"You don't really want me to answer that, do you?" Grace plopped down in the empty chair next to Karen.

Joan's eyes were intensely sad on Grace as she spoke. "This is the worst I've seen him since we were teenagers, Grace. What am I supposed to do?"

"I think you already know the answer to that. You have to let him work it out for himself."

"I don't know how much longer I can stand this."

"You have to if you're gonna marry him. You knew what you were getting into with the guy."

Suddenly, tears welled in Joan's eyes, even though she fought not to cry here in front of her friends. Karen's hand reached for Joan's where it lay on the table.

"Hey," Karen said softly, "Joan, it's gonna work out. Trust me, if this was about you, you'd know it by now."

"Know it how? From the fact that he won't touch me? Or let me touch him?"

"That's a guy thing," Grace said dismissively. "And a Rove thing."

Karen resumed, "He loves you. Anyone with eyes can see that. I know you feel helpless because he's hurting and you can't fix it. But you're not. You can be there for him and let him work it out on his own if that's what he has to do."

"That's what I've been trying to do since Friday. But he's getting worse. It's driving me insane. I really don't know what to do anymore." Before the tears could roll down her cheeks, she wiped at her eyes and sniffled a little, trying to compose herself against her instinct to crumble.

She looked at Karen and Grace apologetically. "Sorry. I'm a bit of a mess myself," she almost laughed. To break the tension of the moment, she got up. "You guys want some iced tea or something?"

"Sure, I'd love some," Karen smiled at Joan.

"Why not?" Grace shrugged.

Joan got glasses from the cabinet and filled them with ice. Then she took the pitcher from the fridge and poured all of them a glass of tea. She sat down with them again. "We had such plans for this place," she sighed. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get it all done without him."

"You think maybe you're making this bigger than it is?" Grace cut in.

"I don't see how. He's been like this for three days now."

He suddenly popped through the kitchen door, but there was with no readable expression on his face.

"Hey stranger," Joan said, deliberately ignoring the now too familiar hangdog look. She went on cheerily, "I was just about to tell the girls about our housewarming party," hoping he had decided to join their conversation. She turned to Grace and Karen. "We're not sure when it'll be yet, but you have to come."

"We'll be there," Karen said. Grace nodded, glancing at Adam.

He just stood there dully for a few seconds before he said, "I'll be in the shed." And he went out the back door and left them.

Joan looked at her two friends when he was gone. "Guys, honestly, what am I gonna do with him?"

"Joan, I don't think there's much you _can_ do," Grace answered earnestly, her tone totally devoid of sarcasm, "Except stick around. And see to it that he doesn't do anything stupid. He'll come around when it's time."

Joan's eyes were starting to shimmer with tears again. "Yeah," she whispered. "I just hope I can hang on that long."

Karen got up from her chair and stood next to Joan, who also got up. Karen pulled her into a hug. "No matter what he says, he knows you just wanna help. He'll come to you when he's ready. Just be strong, OK?"

Joan nodded bravely when Karen let her go.

She saw the two of them to the door. "Thanks for coming over."

Karen smiled at her. "Anytime. Call if you need anything. Or if, you know, you just wanna talk."

"I will."

Joan lingered in the doorway and watched Karen slip her arm around Grace's waist as they walked towards the street where their car was parked. A simple gesture of comfort and affection. It hit her once again how much she longed for Adam's touch, for him to envelop her in his arms and tell her that whatever was wrong could be fixed.

She closed the door and went back to the kitchen table where she sank into her chair again and let the tears come.

_to be continued..._

* * *


	17. Deep Black :: Part 3: Inside Out

_**Chapter 15c**_  
**Deep Black - Part 3: Inside Out**

_by Sisterdebmac & TeeJay_

* * *

_**Author's Note:  
**Sorry it took us a while to update, but we met Chris Marquette in person on Tuesday, and that just totally blanked our brains from anything that has to do with fan fiction. But we're back on track now, with a very vivid image of Chris as 22-year-old Adam for future chapters to write. And in case you were wondering, he's a totally sweet and kind person. So let us dedicate this chapter to him especially (as if we weren't doing that already with anything we write that has Adam in it...). You rock, Chris! Keep that up.  
_

_This is an angsty one. Hence the title. Prepare yourself. It will lighten up a little toward the end of the chapter._

_**Synopsis for Chapter:**  
Adam finds a letter written by his mother to his father when he was five years old. The revelations within make him wonder if his mother could've been saved—and if he really knew his father as well as he thought he did. Meanwhile, Joan is dealing with her own fears._

_**Synopsys for Part 3: **Joan loses her patience with Adam's inexplicable malaise. Meanwhile, he turns to his aunt for answers._

_**Rating for Part 3: PG **for language._

_**Disclaimer:** They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah._

* * *

"Hey, sleepyhead, get up." Joan cooed at Adam from the doorway of their room. He was still lying in bed on this Monday morning when he should have been up to go to work twenty minutes ago. "You're gonna be beyond late if you don't get up soon."

He made no move to get up. In fact, he didn't move at all. Joan went to crouch down next his side of the bed. "Adam, come on," she said in a more serious voice. "You don't have time for this."

"I'm not going to work today," he mumbled listlessly.

Her voice immediately betrayed worry. "What's wrong? Are you sick?" Maybe he had been coming down with something these past few days and it had finally hit. That might explain some of the way he was acting.

She reached over to touch his forehead. He closed his eyes as she did. Was she imagining it or did he flinch at her touch? She pressed her palm to his face. His skin didn't feel clammy and his body temperature seemed normal.

"Adam, are you sick?" she repeated her question.

He drew in a breath and held it for a few seconds. "No. I just feel... wiped out."

"We're all tired, OK? Everyone who works is tired. Have a good breakfast and a Red Bull or something and push through it. Come on, you need to get off your ass. You can't play hooky from work because you'd rather lie in bed and wallow in self-pity, or whatever it is you've been wallowing in."

He turned around and sat up. "I'm not wallowing," he told her sharply.

"Oh no?" she replied. "Then what _is_ this? You don't want to get out of bed, you don't want to do anything. Grace came over here out of concern for you and you pissed ice water all over her."

"You called her and told her to come! I'm not a charity case, Jane. Why can't you just let me be?"

She didn't know how to reply to that at first. She drew in a breath and tried to calm herself. She really didn't want to get in his face, but he wasn't exactly making it easy not to. In a calmer tone she said, "You have to get up and go to work. You don't have any PTO days left."

"How is that your business?"

She sighed and paused. "Look, I don't wanna fight with you. Please, can't you just try?"

He sounded weary now. "Maybe you don't understand this, but I really _can't_ go to work today. Will you call in for me?"

"You want me to call in for you?" she said incredulously. "What kind of slacker fucking layabout wussy crap is that?"

"Jane, please. I can't."

"Shit." She sighed again. "I'll do it this one time, but you're on your own after that."

He nodded. No thank you, just a nod. It didn't surprise her that much, and she wondered if that was wrong or worrisome in itself. She watched him slide back down and turn around to lie with his back to her.

She just wanted to—what exactly? Scream, cry? Leave? No, not that. But everyday she felt a little more fearful that he wasn't going to come back to her. That she was losing him. That those strange fears they both expressed didn't seem so strange anymore.

The uneasy feeling that had first settled in her stomach on Saturday night was growing toward a full-on panic. She knew she had to keep trying, staying sane. For him. She wondered if in his own distress he stopped for one second to think that whatever was eating at him was eating at her too. And soon there'd be nothing left.

She trudged down the stairs. In the kitchen, she picked up the phone and called Adam's office. She told them he had a stomach virus. They wished him well and she left the house to go to work. She didn't bother to say goodbye. He wouldn't care anyway.

* * *

All morning at work, she tried to think of something that might finally get Adam up and out of the house. If she didn't get him out of there soon, she was going to go completely stir-crazy.

Over the weekend, in her worry about his condition, she had not gone anywhere herself. Except for running quickly to Lowe's on her own to pick up the shelf and the curtain rods Sunday afternoon, after Grace and Karen left. He hadn't even noticed she was gone.

She was on the verge of giving up. She had tried pretty much everything short of falling on her knees at his feet and begging him to straighten up and fly right. As distasteful as that idea was to her, she couldn't rule it out. She was getting that desperate.

She went with a couple of co-workers to lunch at a café up the street from their office. The Arcadia Welcome Center was just two doors down. As they walked to the café from the parking lot, she was struck by a brochure on a rack in the Welcome Center window. She excused herself from her friends and stopped in to grab a copy.

The place was called "The Blast Park". She remembered Adam mentioning not so very long ago that he'd seen a website for the place and he was interested in checking it out. It was an old blast furnace and smelting factory that had shut down long ago as most iron and steel production moved overseas. A rather eccentric entrepreneur bought the site and built something like a theme park there, though it was far from traditional. There were no rides, but there were activities like simulated deep sea diving in the old furnace tank, rock climbing walls and rope courses.

But the main attraction for Adam was the light show they put on at night. They would illuminate the many towers and snaking pipes of the structure with different colored spotlights. If the photos in the brochure were to be believed, she could see why he thought it would be a "totally cool place to go take a look at".

After work, she dropped by a Ticket Express location, hoping they would have tickets even though the Blast Park was on the other side of Baltimore. She figured if they had the brochure at the Arcadia Welcome Center, they would probably sell tickets locally as well. What she hadn't counted on was that the two young clerks at the ticketing counter knew all about it. They told her a trip out there would "totally rock", especially in the summer. She bought two tickets.

By the time she got home, she was a bundle of unease and anticipation. Unease because she had no idea what mood she would find Adam in. And anticipation that this might finally be the thing that woke him up. How could he resist the thoughtful gift of surprise tickets to the Blast Park?

He wasn't on the couch, and she didn't know whether to be relieved by that or not. She called his name and went upstairs when she didn't get an answer. He wasn't anywhere in the house, only one place else he could be, of course. She put down her purse after taking the two tickets out and went to the shed.

She found him sitting on a stool at the table, staring blankly at a painting she had never seen before. Was it one of his or one of his mother's? Looking around, she noticed that he had shifted some things around. There was a stack of paintings leaning against the rack of metal shelves, facing inward. Why had he pulled them out if he didn't want to look at them? Was whatever he was going through somehow about his mother and her art?

She stood opposite him, trying to get his attention. "Hey, what are you doing?" she asked curiously.

He looked at her, quickly, superficially, as if he was just realizing that she had stepped into the shed. "Nothing."

Her face fell as he simply went back to staring at the painting. She moved around behind him so that she could see it over his shoulder. It was moody and dark, a forest clearing with a small lake at its center—all done only in shades of blue, black, and gray. "It's beautiful... in a creepy kind of way. One of your mom's?"

He only nodded.

She lifted her hands to lay them on his shoulders, but thought better of it. She couldn't take having him pull away from her again. She let her hands drop back down to her sides. "You wanna hang it?" she asked.

His response was immediate and snappish. "No." He got up, took it to where the other paintings were and leaned it against them, also facing in.

She followed him hesitantly. "Hey," she said, reaching for his hand when he passed her. She grazed it, but missed catching it as he walked back to sit on the stool again.

Remembering the tickets she had been itching to show him, she followed him back to where he sat. Her gaze lingered on him as she said, "You remember the Blast Park? That refurbished blast furnace compound with the colored spotlights?" She placed the two tickets on the table. "What do you say we go there tonight?"

She looked at him expectantly, hoping for a positive reaction. Any reaction.

"Tonight?" he frowned. "No, I don't think so."

"Why? You told me you wanted to go. Tonight's as good a night as any. There's not a cloud in the sky, it's gonna stay warm for a while." Her voice became dreamy. "Just imagine us under the open night sky with all those lights around. We can climb up into the machines, sit between the pipes and watch the show. Tell me that wouldn't be cool."

He set his bleary eyes on her and said, "Jane, I really don't feel like going out. Not tonight, OK?"

"But I already bought the tickets." The disappointment was clearly written all over her face.

"They're not just good for today, right? We'll go some other time. Or you can sell them on eBay or something. I don't care."

That tore it. "OK, you know what? I give up! You're not interested in food or sex or work or your friends or art or fun or anything. What am I supposed to do?" She lifted her arms helplessly.

"Who says you have to _do_ anything?"

"I'm just trying to help you."

He raised his voice now. "Did I ask you to help me? Stop fucking patronizing me, Jane! I don't need any help, OK?"

"Yes, you do," she whispered.

Adam just pressed his lips together, not meeting her gaze.

She wanted to scream at him. Just scream and let out all the frustration that had been building inside her for days. She tried to blink back tears because that was the last thing she wanted him to see. "Adam, I don't know know how much longer I can take this. I love you, I really do, but you're not easy to be with right now."

She watched his brow crease in confusion for a split second. Maybe it registered with him for the first time that she was hurting too. His voice was more emotional than it had been in days, but still too reserved, too cool. "I can't deal with this."

"_This_ what? What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything. But right now, bugging me to talk or hang out or... whatever. I can't do it. Can you just back off? I need some time to myself."

That statement struck her as ridiculous. All he'd done for days was lay around by himself. She wanted to point out that very obvious fact, but she didn't say it out loud. She didn't have the strength to go another round with him.

"Fine," she resigned and turned to go. But she stopped in the doorway and turned back to him. How long had it been since he had last eaten? How long could a person go without food? "Just come to the house later and have something to eat. Please," she almost begged.

"I had something already. I'm fine."

She knew that was the best she would get out of him today. She bit her lower lip until it hurt and went back to the house. For a split second she considered calling her mom or Grace or Lydia to ask if they would go to the Blast Park with her, just to spite Adam. She knew she couldn't stand another night stuck in the house with only the silent tension between them.

Maybe she'd give Lydia a call. Lydia was least likely to push her about her personal state of mind. As soon her mom found out what was wrong, she would likely panic and insist on coming over to help. Joan knew that Adam would not want Helen to see him in his present state. And ganging up on him had already failed once. Why try that again? Grace and Karen had done what they could. She probably shouldn't bother them again. No, she just needed to get out of the house for the night. No questions asked.

She decided to call Lydia. "Hey, Lyddie, do you feel like going to a movie tonight?"

* * *

Tuesday morning was no different than the day before. Joan got up, did her thing in the bathroom and then tried to get Adam up for work. He said he still couldn't go in.

"You're gonna lose a day's pay." She hoped that reminding him of that fact would be incentive enough for him to change his mind.

"So?" he shrugged. Obviously not.

"And a lot of respect from your boss."

"I'm not too worried about that. I'm there because they like my work, not because of my perfect attendance. Just go call them and tell them I'm still sick."

She crossed her arms and stood her ground. "No."

"No?"

"I'm not gonna be a party to this any longer. You wanna lay there and lose the job you worked so hard to get, that's on you."

He rolled over and grabbed the phone from her side of the bed. He glared at her while he dialed the number. It was like she was daring him to do it, to call in again with no days left to use. When the receptionist answered, he asked to be transferred to his boss. He didn't have to put on a fake sick voice; he still sounded hoarse and raspy from crying too much and not talking enough.

"Sorry, I can't make it in today... No, my stomach's a little better. This would be more of a mental health day," he said bluntly, his eyes boring into Joan. "OK, I'll check my e-mail later... Thanks, I will." He hung up the phone, put it back on the nightstand and settled back into bed.

She left him there.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, Adam took the letter out of his portfolio and read it for what must've been the hundredth time. He hated not knowing what was going on behind the scenes during this troubled time in his parents' lives. He need to know why his father lost control while his mother seemed to be falling apart. Every time he read it, he felt her pain and her fear and her determination to keep her baby boy safe. Was his father really trying to have her committed? Could he really be that cold?

The thought of her locked up someplace—drugged, her beautiful spirit quashed—made Adam's heart ache. He put the letter aside and ran his hands over his weary face, scratching at the odd growth of fuzz on his chin. He was itching in a lot of places. He felt dirty and sick and miserable, and he didn't care.

He suddenly had a thought. He got up and searched out his cell phone, which he had turned off days ago. He turned it on and bypassed the missed call and new message notifications. Then he cleared the call log without even reading it and went to his address book. When he found the number he was looking for, he cleared his throat and punched it up.

After three rings, "Hello?"

"Aunt Lou?" he rasped.

"Adam?" his aunt Louisa replied.

"Yeah."

"Hi Honey! How are you?" she asked happily.

His voice reflected the graveness of his call. "Uh... not so good... thing is, uh, I kinda need to talk to you about something. I... I have some questions about Dad."

"Sure."

"Do you remember anything about 1993? I mean, about problems between Mom and Dad back then?"

"What's this about, Honey?"

"I... I found some letters—well, this one letter in particular." He ran out of words. He could barely wrap his head around what his father had done, let alone say it out loud.

"What letter?" Louisa said very gently. She remembered how difficult it was sometimes for Adam to talk about his mother. He adored her so much. When she died, everyone feared he might just go with her. They thought that about his father, too.

"She wrote a letter to Dad... She talked about him trying to put her in the hospital. And I guess they fought about it. She said he... he hit her. She said she wanted to leave him. That she'd take me away and he'd never see us again."

Louisa could hear the hurt and confusion in Adam's voice as he struggled to get the words out. She didn't know how respond.

"Are you there?" he asked when she didn't say anything.

"Yeah," she breathed.

"Did you know about this?" he inquired, this time more urgently.

"I didn't know about the letter. But I knew about the hospital. I knew they fought about it and she threatened to leave. Adam, he was so scared he was going to lose her, and you. He just wanted to help her."

"By locking her away someplace?" he said bitterly.

"That's how she saw it, but it wasn't like that. See Honey, the drugs they gave her did more harm than good until she just stopped taking them... Do you remember the summer that you came to stay with me and your cousin Jamie?"

"Yeah," he answered, digging back in his memory, just barely remembering a few odd moments like visual scene flashes.

"She was hospitalized that year. For thirteen weeks. You were four."

"And that freaked her out so bad that she was willing to run away with me if he ever tried to put her back in the hospital," he concluded.

"They lived that next year on pins and needles. After she got out of the hospital, she was OK for a while. She started painting again and it was really great stuff. But your dad never stopped being afraid that it might end at any minute. He didn't know it for a few weeks, but she went off her meds again. And she fell into a really deep, deep black depression. Much worse than before. She hid it from everyone but Carl. He knew she was coming apart again, and fighting it with everything she had. He took her in a few times, looking for help. But they just sent him home with more of the same prescriptions. You know there weren't as many options for treating manic depressive illness back then as there are now.

"When their insurance ran out, Carl didn't know what to do except get her admitted to the hospital, so that maybe a new doctor would see her and figure out some way to help her. He never wanted her committed, Adam. He just needed a new diagnosis, so they could get a new insurance allowance."

"But he knew she was scared they'd lock her away," Adam said.

"Yes, he did... And Adam, it scared the hell out of him when he hit her. He called me that night, I still remember the way he cried. After that, he stopped trying to push her into treatment. They tried some alternative therapies, got some free counseling in the community. They even tried church. Six months later, when the insurance was fresh for another year, they took advantage of it and found a new doctor. And they finally got her stabilized. She was OK for years. A new woman."

He smiled a little at that. He knew his good memories were real and not just wishful thinking. But his smile faded when he realized that it still hadn't been enough. "What happened to her?"

"When she was 48, she developed a thyroid problem that affected her in a lot of weird and debilitating ways. She'd get dizzy, pass out. She couldn't eat, lost a lot of weight."

"Yeah, I remember that." He never really thought about the bad spells. He had always tried so hard to hold on to the good memories he had of his mother. But he suddenly saw it all in front of his mind's eye. How she would stay in bed for days on end, how he would ask his dad worriedly what was wrong with Mom and Carl would just try to reassure him with promises that she would be OK the next day.

He remembered one night when he had been so terrified to find his dad crying in his chair in the living room that he couldn't follow his impulse to go and comfort him. Instead, he retreated back to his own room, alone with his confusion.

He had to force his attention back to the phone call when he heard Aunt Louisa's voice through the receiver, "Because of the thyroid medication, they had to re-evaluate and adjust all her other meds and they put her on new ones. Nobody saw how badly that messed her up. Not even Carl. I guess she made up her mind that no matter what, she was not going back in the hospital, so she hid it."

Adam felt his stomach bottom out. She was 48 when she took an overdose of pills and wrote the last letter of her life. And nobody even knew the pain she was in. He gripped the cell phone a little tighter and drew in a shaky breath, hoping Aunt Lou wouldn't notice his distress.

If she did, she didn't show it as she went on, "Carl called me the day before she died. He said she was OK. She seemed really calm. He said she cooked and ate a huge dinner with you guys."

Tears welled up in Adam's eyes. He remembered that too. She hadn't made dinner for a month. They hadn't eaten together as a family for weeks, not even takeout. But it was like that sometimes, so no one ever questioned it. When she made dinner, he had been so happy he could barely even eat. But she ate. And so did his dad. His dad who should have recognized the fact that the change in her was too drastic.

Louisa broke his thought, continuing, "I guess she'd made her decision. They call it the _false promise_. That last stretch of time before someone takes their own life. They get really calm, almost happy, because they know the pain is about to end."

Adam could not speak, he could barely breathe as tears poured from his eyes. He let them run freely down his face, feeling them disappear into the collar of his sweat shirt. He sniffled his nose once.

"Honey? Adam?" Aunt Lou asked softly.

He cleared his throat again, fighting the sorrow and pain away for a moment, "Yeah," he said hoarsely, "I'm here."

"Adam," she said his name again, sounding like she was about to cry herself. "Everyone did the best they could. Your dad loved your mom more than any man ever loved a woman. You can believe that."

After his aunt repeatedly asked him if he was going to be all right and he assured her that he was fine, Adam hung up the phone and collapsed on the sofa, his strength leaving him.

So his dad was trying to get his mom admitted to a hospital because he thought it was the only way he could get her help. But she didn't believe him. Was that why he kept those specific letters together? To prove to her that he wasn't trying to have her put away? Maybe it didn't really make sense to blame his dad for what happened. Or for anything really, except completely losing his temper. Once.

Overwhelmed by it all, Adam lay down on his side and drew his knees up until he was in a fetal position. And he let the tears come until he was so exhausted he fell asleep.

_to be continued..._

* * *


	18. Deep Black :: Part 4: Love & Tears

_**Chapter 15d**_  
**Deep Black - Part 4: Love & Tears **

_by Sisterdebmac & TeeJay_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
This is an angsty one. Hence the title. Prepare yourself. It will lighten up at the end of this chapter. FYI: Part 4 is the last part for Chapter 15.  
_

_**Synopsis:**  
Adam finds a letter written by his mother to his father when he was five years old. The revelations within make him wonder if his mother could've been saved --- and if he really knew his father as well as he thought he did. Meanwhile, Joan is dealing with her own fears._

_**Synopsis for Part 4: **  
Everything comes to a head as Joan finally breaks through Adam's silence and learns the dark secret that has been troubling him. _

_**Rating for Part 4: PG-13 **for language and adult themes (no smut)._

_**Disclaimer:** They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah._

* * *

The roads were slick with rain from a torrential downpour that had only ended a few minutes before. The drive home had taken Joan ten minutes longer than usual because traffic slowed to a crawl in the thick rain that the windshield wipers could barely keep up with. Thankfully, only a few stray drops of rain now fell down from the skies as Joan pulled into the driveway.

As she exited the car and locked it, she wondered where she would find Adam tonight. She entered the house—now _their_ house, she had to remind herself. Even normally, it would still feel a little strange to think of 44 Alexander Drive as her home. The way things had been between them the last few days, it was beginning to feel just plain bad.

She tried not to tense up as she stepped in the front door and listened for any sign of him. There was only silence and she wondered if he was there at all. And then she saw him, lying on the couch in a pair of sweat pants and a sweat shirt, like he was cold on this uncomfortably muggy summer day. He was just as scruffy and unkempt as he was when she had left him that morning.

When she let her keys drop a little too loudly on the little table beside the door, he startled. He sat up very slowly and looked at her.

"What are you doing?" she asked flatly.

"Nothing. I fell asleep," was his simple reply.

"What did you do all day?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't do anything."

Not again. She shook her head. "Did you at least hang the rack in the kitchen like you said you would?" she asked, getting angrier by the vowel. She wanted more space for some of the things that she brought from her apartment. Just another one of the many things she wanted to do around the house that that kept getting pushed aside because of whatever was going on with him.

She'd tried to remain hopeful throughout the day. On her way home, she stopped by a cute little store get a funky set of blue glass vases she had been eyeing for a while to put on top of the rack for decoration. She was itching to put some decorative touches on the house, something that would make it look lively and cozy, so that you'd feel at home right away when you stepped in.

Not waiting for his answer, she looked into the kitchen to find that he hadn't done as she asked. In fact, it seemed like he indeed hadn't done anything. At all. There was still a pile of her china that needed washing before it could be put away and two boxes of her kitchen utensils and cookware stood where he had left them days ago. The new white wooden rack was leaning against the wall with the price tag still on it.

She stalked back into the living room and couldn't keep the annoyance from her voice when she addressed him, "I thought I could set up some things in the kitchen tonight. Why didn't you do the stuff we talked about?"

"I'll do it tonight or tomorrow night, OK? It's not that urgent."

"Not urgent?" she repeated. "How are we ever gonna get this place fixed up? You think if you just leave it laying around long enough, the gnomes and fairies will come and do it _for_ you?"

He stood suddenly, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "I said I'll do it later," he growled.

"Adam, this isn't you. Why are you acting like this?"

"It_is _me. And I told you just need some time to myself."

Joan blew up immediately. "Time to yourself? Adam, if I laid on my ass whenever I needed time to myself, I'd be fired. You already lost a day's pay. How long is your boss gonna put up with this? If you won't pull yourself together for me, do it because you love your job."

"Let me worry about that, OK?" he said.

"I'm worried about _you_!" All she wanted to do was go shake some sense into him. "When are you gonna tell me what the fuck is _wrong_ with you?" she spat. She was tired of it all, the listlessness, the silence. She had given him a few days to get it out of his system, whatever it was. It hadn't helped. She was done.

He watched her cross the distance between them, but he was taken completely by surprise when she suddenly took him by the upper arms. His back went up immediately at her touch. What was she doing? She knew he hated being grabbed. She tightened her grip and pulled at him so he stumbled a few steps away from the couch. He tried to tear his arms away from her, but she had a pretty good handle on him.

"Stop it!" he flared, finally pushing her away. She looked as shocked as he was. He staggered back a step and his already puffy eyes filled with tears. "I wish you hadn't done that," he said menacingly but oh-so quietly, and Joan didn't know if he was more angry or hurt.

But her anger only continued to build. "I just don't know how to get your attention anymore. Look at this place! We've got a million things to do around here and you're just wasting the day away, feeling sorry for yourself over something you won't talk to me about. What am I supposed to do? I can't live like this!" Oh yes, she was angry now, undeniably so.

And he was so annoyed at the way she was pushing him that he couldn't look at her. He felt his jaw clench.

"Adam..." she whispered, so quietly.

It sounded to him like she was giving up. He tore his eyes away from the boxes and the mess on the floor in the corner of the living room where he had just stacked everything. "What do you want from me, Joan?" he yelled at her in reply.

That threw her once more. She hated it when he used her real name. "I want you to talk to me! Why can't you tell me what's going on with you?"

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but closed it again, so Joan just plowed on, "You don't shower, you don't shave, you miss two days of work? Whatever it is, it feels big, but you won't let me in. How am I supposed to fucking help you if you won't let me in?" she yelled.

He glared at her. "You don't get it! Some things are just private. I know you don't have much regard for privacy, but for once can't you just accept that I don't have to talk to you about everything?"

"Private? We're engaged! We're, like, pre-bonded for life. If you can't share this with me, who can you share it with? Because," her voice became sarcastic now, "I used to think marriage was all about sharing."

He had no answer for that.

"When you hurt, I hurt too. This isn't fair. I'm not moving in here so you can ignore me whenever you feel like it."

"I'm not ignoring you!"

"You're not connecting either!"

"I'm sorry if I can't always be in a good mood for you---"

"You can be in any mood you want. But if we're gonna be partners, you can't shut me out!"

"Wait, who says _you_ get to decide how everything works around here? This is _my_ house!" He snapped, glaring at her, standing there a few feet from him, her hands on her hips.

That hurt. She was completely taken aback. She thought they had agreed to share everything. That they were going to make this house _their_ home. "Fine," she snapped. "I'll just pack my stuff and go back to my apartment. Won't be too hard since it's mostly still in boxes anyway. I'm sorry for intruding on your weird little world. You can have all the privacy you want. In _your_ house," she replied pointedly, bitterly.

There was an awkward silence for a moment as he retreated yet again, a silence that was louder than bombs. Joan threw her hands in the air. "So, that's it then, is it? You're just gonna stand there, not saying anything?"

"What do you want me to say!" he shouted.

"Just tell me what you're feeling!" was her retort.

Again, the idea stymied him.

Like a bolt from the blue, it hit her. She suddenly remembered something—the night this started. More gently, she asked, "It was something you found in those boxes of your dad's stuff, wasn't it? Thursday night, that's when you got all weird on me."

The angry glint in Adam's eyes suddenly turned to... something she couldn't quite describe. Hurt? Grief? Shock?

"That's it, isn't it?" she prodded.

His whole body sagged. His brow furrowed in pain. He glanced away as he finally made an admission, "Yeah."

"What was it? What did you find in there?"

He couldn't say the words, not to her. Not to Jane. But she was never going to back off, was she? "You _know _I don't wanna talk about this but you just can't stop nagging, can you? You can't leave it alone!"

"No, Adam, I can't! You're _scaring_ me!" she said, her eyes like fire on the water.

Great, he was instilling fear now. This sucked! "Fine! You wanna know what it's about?" He grabbed his portfolio and pulled his mother's letter out, waving it in her face. "It's about this!" He started reading the beginning of the letter out loud to her, the part that he had discovered Thursday night.

_"Carl,_

_What you did last night was inexcusable," _he began, finishing the first paragraph with,_ "Make no mistake, if you ever hit me again, I will take Adam and leave and you will never see either of us again."_

"Wow," was all Joan could say.

"I was five years old when this happened," he told her as he read on bitterly, "_Why do you blame me for everything that's wrong with you? And whatever's wrong with me? Like I want this. Like I will it to happen. Like I enjoy the confusion—" _his voice broke there, but he pushed through it,_ "in my baby's eyes when Mommy's not quite right." _He paused again on that note._ "Carl, I love you, but you don't understand what those pills make me feel, or keep me from feeling. I don't want to be sick. But they don't make me well! And I won't go into the hospital again. You promised it would only be for a few days the last time too, and it was over three months. I won't let you separate me from my boy like that again. And you farmed him off on your sister? No! Never again. I'll take him and disappear first."_

"Holy crap," Joan half whispered. She was in shock. That was quite a revelation.

"Yeah," he said, calmer now as he handed her the letter. "I can't help wondering now if she might have been all right if she'd just gotten away. Maybe they weren't meant to be together. Maybe she would've lived if she'd left him."

"Adam, you're gonna drive yourself nuts, thinking like that. There's no way you'll ever know the answer to that question." Her voice was more compassionate, but she was still annoyed at him for hiding something so upsetting from her.

"Yeah, but that doesn't make the question go away."

She glanced down and paged through the letter. The beginning of a paragraph caught her eye. She read it to him, _"I can't take your silence and your rages anymore. It's like sometimes you just disappear into yourself and I can't find you. And they say I'm the crazy one..." _She couldn't mask her sarcasm. "I have some experience with that. Must run in the family."

He looked very disturbed by that conclusion. "You know, I really don't need to hear that from you right now."

She thought maybe he did need to hear it. "Well, it's true. How many times have we been through this? Something bothers you and won't talk? You're just like your dad."

Tears began to well up in Adam's eyes. She had just confirmed his darkest fears. He fought them, but they won, clinging to his eyelashes before they slowly dislodged.

She suddenly felt a stab of pain in her stomach. "What? What is it?"

"Jane, I don't wanna be like him," his voice quivered with fear. "I don't want to worry that I could hurt you like that."

"You won't." Of course he wouldn't. How could he think he would? "That's not what I meant."

"I'm not so sure," he said doubtfully.

She challenged him. "Have you ever been mad enough to hit me?"

"No!" he said instantly.

"Or anyone?"

"Well, yeah, of course. Who hasn't?" he said, his voice more sober now.

"So, did you?"

"Not since I was a kid."

"See? You're _not_ like him. You're you. And you would never hit me." She was so very sure of that. She couldn't imagine Adam raising a hand to anyone. Ever.

He looked at his feet suddenly before he said, "He was a good guy, Jane."

She took a step closer to him. How could she make him understand that he did not have to worry about any of this? Her hand went to his stubbly chin, drawing it gently upward so he could meet her eyes as she told him, "Hey, look at me. I know he was a good guy. So are you."

He took a step back, separating their momentary physical connection. "No, you don't understand. I keep going over everything I can remember about him, over and over in my head. And everything I remember says he was a good guy. Except this one thing. And it's just about the worst thing I can imagine."

"I know." Joan was nearing her wit's end. He had to know that she had absolutely no fear of him ever physically abusing her. "Your dad made a mistake. And he never did it again as far as we know, right?"

"But he had it in him," Adam said, his voice still shaking. _There was Carl, standing opposite Elizabeth, shouting at her, his face red with anger._ "He had enough of a mean streak in him that he could..." _Elizabeth shouted back and—BAM!—Carl's hand collided with her face, _"...that he could hit _her_."_The look on Elizabeth's face was indescribable. A mixture of pain and confusion and total shock, but so much more than that._

He gave up trying to fight his anguish. He could feel the tears coming, unstoppable now. His mother was often so fragile—how could his dad hit her? How could a husband ever hit the wife he loved, who gave him a child they both loved?

Adam stumbled backward a step and collided with the back of the couch. His hands touched it and suddenly all the strength he had tried to pull together to just barely keep him going the last few days left him. Like a punctured tire oozing air, he sank to the floor with his back against the couch.

Tears flowed freely down his cheeks now, and he choked out, "What if I do too?" _He was standing opposite Joan, she was shouting at him, he raised his hand and—oh God! _"What if I have that in me, Jane?"

Joan watched him break down, giving up on fighting back her own tears. She went to her knees in front of him, trying to look him in the eyes, trying to convey with all she had that his fears were completely unfounded. "You don't," she simply said, as convincingly as she could.

He couldn't look at her. He saw it all over again—his father hitting his mother in the face. Between sobs, his voice became more urgent. "How do you know? I... I thought I knew my dad. A few days ago, I never would've even imagined that he could do that to her." He drew in a shaky breath. "But he did. Now, it's all I can see! What if that could be me someday?"

She heard so much desperation in his voice, so much fear. She watched a tear drop from his chin into his lap as his forehead furrowed in agony. She couldn't take another second of being separated from him when he was in so much pain. She let out a sob of her own and scooted closer, wrapping her arms around him. And for the first time in days, he let her hold him.

The lump in her throat was so big now that she could barely get the words out. "Adam, no. No, no, no, no." She felt it all suddenly, the full weight of the burden that he had been carrying. Alone, once again. She tried to assure him, "It won't be you. It'll never be you."

"How do you know?" he demanded through his tears. "How do you know?"

"I just know," she said as gently as she could, stroking his hair, gently holding him to her.

"I don't wanna hurt you, Jane. I'm so scared of hurting you." It came out in sobs as he cried almost uncontrollably into her chest. She could feel his shoulders shaking and his hot breath against her shirt. "Please, God, don't ever let us be like that," he sobbed in her arms.

"He wouldn't—- We won't." She tightened her arms around him and held him like she would never let him go. "Adam, we won't. I promise," she whispered to him.

When no more words would come, he just cried. And she gladly let him. All the distress and sorrow just poured out of him. He couldn't stop shaking. She buried her chin deeper in his shoulder and stroked his back.

As hard as it was to see him like this, she couldn't put into words how relieved she was that he had finally broken down, let it all out. For the first time in days she felt like he would get through this. _They_ would get through this. That they would be OK. Always. Words having failed her, she just kept her arms wrapped around him. He cried for a long time, and she just held him, rocking him a little.

He finally quieted down and drew back, and she tried to smooth his disheveled hair into place, but it was as stubbornly resistant as he had been. So she gave up and wiped the tears from his cheeks instead as he stared at her gratefully through puffy eyes.

Silence settled and the room suddenly felt much too quiet. She was looking at him, at the tears that still clung to his eyelashes. Why did he keep so much pain bottled up inside until it choked him? She wished so much that he would talk more when something was bothering him. It always seemed to help _her_ to talk about her problems.

But this was not her, this was Adam. Sweet, lovely Adam, who she sometimes just didn't know how to help. How could she, when he became so taciturn and remote? Maybe this was a new start. Maybe now that all that fear and grief and silent rage had finally spilled out of him, he would feel more at ease with her.

She wondered how she could make him understand that he could share anything and everything with her. No matter how horrible it seemed. _A problem shared is a problem halved_, wasn't that what they said?

"You know something?" she whispered as she stroked his brow, hoping to ease the tension there. "I don't think you ever really grieved for your father. We've been together almost constantly since he died. Maybe this happened because you never had enough time on your own to process everything you've been feeling. Maybe that's why it's so hard to face the fact that your dad wasn't perfect."

He thought about that and nodded a little. "Makes sense."

They continued to sit together, but the silence was finally devoid of the stress of the last few days. It was like a balm now, like a comfort zone where they both felt safe and warm. She was holding his hand, running her thumb softly over the back of it, and she felt him begin to relax at last.

"Hey," she very softly said. It prompted him to look up at her, meet her eyes. She continued, her voice gentle. "Can I ask you something?"

He looked at her for a very long moment, then nodded. His voice was hoarse when he said, "Yeah, sure."

"I totally understand if you don't want to talk about it... What do you remember about the day your mom died?"

A huge sigh escaped him and he looked her squarely in the eye. "Everything," he rasped.

"Do you wanna tell me what happened?" she carefully probed, her voice just above a whisper.

He was silent at first, and eerily still in that way that only he could be. She could see that he was wrestling with painful memories of that horrible day, deciding whether he wanted to experience it all over again as he told her about it.

Maybe she shouldn't have asked, aggravating his already searing agony. He didn't say anything for a while. He was such a jumble of emotions --- she could read it all over his face --- emotions so intense, she thought she might die on the spot if she looked into his eyes any longer. She fought to keep down the new sob that was working its way up her throat.

"I'm sorry," she said. "After all this, I shouldn't ask you to relive that day. You've been through enough."

He squeezed her hand. "No," he whispered. "No, maybe I need to tell you. Maybe it's time."

He drew in a breath through his nose to steady himself, then started, "I remember leaving for school that morning. Dad was making breakfast, like he sometimes did. He said Mom was sick. I guess she was having one of her bad spells. I was too young to really understand what manic depressive illness was, but I knew the signs. The unpredictable mood swings, the crazy highs and the crushing lows. I could usually tell when she was hurting. But she was OK the night before, really OK... _Too_ OK.

"I didn't see her at all that morning before I left, but I didn't think much about it. Around our house, that was kinda normal. Like always, Grace waited for me after school. She was all excited about the five bucks she'd earned for helping her neighbor with something the day before. You know," he actually smiled a small, sad smile, "she wasn't into the whole anarchy thing back then.

"She insisted on blowing the money at the ice cream shop with me. And you know how she is when she doesn't get her way, so of course I went with her. Afterwards, we took the bus to my place to just hang out. When we got home, no one was there except our neighbor, Mrs. Westphal. I remember the look on her face when she saw me coming in."

Joan listened to him, fascinated in a sad kind of way. She wished more than ever she could ease his pain, but maybe she was, just by listening.

He went on, "She wouldn't tell me anything specific, just that something bad had happened to Mom and that she would take me to the hospital. I still remember that Grace never left my side. She was there next to me, holding on to my hand like our lives depended on it."

Tears shot into Joan's eyes. She knew Adam and Grace had been close as kids, but now she felt tremendous new respect for her friend. And gratitude toward her for having been there for Adam, for helping him then. She could only imagine how he might have cracked if Grace hadn't been there, much like she, herself had been there when his father died.

Adam's voice grew darker, deeper. "At the hospital, as soon as I saw Dad, I knew. I just fell apart, right there. He didn't have to tell me she was dead. I knew, but I was just a kid so I refused to accept it. I went ballistic, kicking and screaming. Until Dad grabbed me and just held me until I had to stop fighting. I think I freaked him out pretty bad. I'll never forget the desperation in his eyes, and this bone-deep sadness."

He stopped for a moment, fighting for air, tears welling in his eyes again. He felt Joan's palm soft on his cheek as she whispered, "The sadness you have. Sadness that no one should have to carry inside them."

He composed his voice as Joan's thumb softly wiped away the single tear on his cheek that had dislodged. She felt the thick stubble that had grown on his chin. It was so unusual to see him with even the beginnings of a beard. She slowly drew her hand back.

"Grace was devastated. She was frozen rigid. She knew what it all meant, right from the beginning. I think my tantrum really scared her. She'd never seen me like that. I don't know how much time we spent at the hospital. Dad was in and out of the waiting room. I just sat there, not knowing what to think, what to do. Grace was crying. First time I'd ever seen her do that. When we finally left, we took Grace home first. I stayed in the car and watched Dad talk to the rabbi. When my dad left them, they just stood on the porch for a long time. Grace's dad was hugging her, and she was _holding onto him..." _he said, emphasizing his words with gripping fists, shaking his head at the power of the image he could still call to mind ten years later as if it had just happened.

"The house was so quiet, so completely... empty. I remember how Dad took me in his arms and he said over and over, 'Oh Adam, what are we gonna do?' He cried, but I couldn't. I was too scared. And angry. And confused. He wouldn't tell me how she died. He just said he came home and found her and she wasn't breathing. He said it was an accident. Maybe he didn't think I understood how sick she was. Maybe he didn't think I could grasp the concept of suicide. Maybe he just didn't want me to know.

"I must have fallen asleep in his arms on the couch. He put me to bed at some point but I don't think he slept at all that night. He was still in the same clothes the next morning. It took him a week to finally tell me that she killed herself. He was sitting there at the kitchen table, fumbling with that envelope, that desperation still in his eyes.

"I couldn't read it, you know I couldn't, not for a very long time. Not until you came along and saved me." He looked at Joan and there was that sad smile again, and the faintest twinkle in his dark, intense eyes.

A feeling of melancholy swept over Joan. Yes, she remembered those days vividly. "I didn't get it at first. I needed divine intervention to finally make me see how badly you needed my help. You were so upset. When Grace told me about your mom, I was honestly afraid you might do what she did." She paused for a long moment before asking, "Did you ever seriously consider it?"

He sighed heavily. "Oh God, I don't know. Maybe there were a couple of times that I pictured myself with a razor blade, but I guess I'm way too much of a wuss to ever go through with it."

"I love that you're a wuss." She smiled, taking his hand again. "And please don't ever picture that again."

"I'll do my best."

She caressed his hand with her fingertips. "Adam, you really scared me. You can't do that to me, OK? It tore me apart, seeing you like that and not being able to help."

His eyes were shimmering with tears again, as were Joan's. "I know, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking.

"Once upon a time, you said to me that you understood things a lot of people don't get. You were right about that. And you know what? Maybe I do too. Maybe I especially get _you,_" she told him.

"You do."

"So next time something upsets you, talk to me. OK?"

He nodded. "I'm so sorry. God, Jane, I know put you through hell and I... I know it doesn't make sense that I couldn't talk to you. I just... couldn't. Old habit, I guess. You know how Grace was so closed up about her mom for so long?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that sorta started with what happened to my mom. I think it made her realize that her mom's problems were really serious, too. She couldn't stand to talk about it. My dad couldn't either. I didn't really have anybody to talk to, so I just kinda clammed up... I thought I was past all that now."

"I thought we both were. I think part of me didn't really wanna know what was going on with you. I was afraid it might be that other shoe, you know, finally dropping."

"No..." He touched her face. "No, it wasn't anything like that."

"There is _nothing_ you can't talk to me about, OK? So next time you promise not to leave me hanging?"

Again, he nodded.

"You crashed my period weepies. Next time, I crash your broody routine. Got it?"

"Got it," he smiled and it was a real Adam smile, one that reached his eyes.

Her heart swelled and her worry lines melted away. God, it was great to see him do that! "If we're gonna be married, I need you to remember that partners are always there for each other. Let me be there for you."

Once again, he nodded.

"Just in case it hasn't dawned on you after all these years, I am always gonna love you. No matter what. No more secrets, right?"

"Right."

Joan smiled a melancholic smile back at him, touching the stubble on his chin again. "Now, can we get rid of this?"

His face lit up a little. "You don't like it?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then I'll get rid of it. But only if you help me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I need a shower," he said, taking a whiff of himself.

"I won't argue with that."

"Wash my back?" he suggested.

She thought about it. A nice hot shower might feel good before bedtime. "I will if you'll dry my hair afterward." She loved the way he ran his elegant fingers through her long locks as he blow-dried it. After five days, she was aching for his touch. So much that the sheer thought of it made shivers run down her spine.

He smiled, the light in his eyes betraying a return of the fire in his belly. "Deal."

* * *

Joan went to get fresh towels from the hall closet while Adam ran the shower to get the temperature right. He slipped his sweats and boxers off and stepped into the water. He wet his hair and as quickly as he could, he grabbed the soap, lathered up and washed his armpits and all his other stinky, grungy bits. He was already rinsing off when Joan stepped in with him, all perky nipples and deliciously curvy hips.

He pulled her under the water with him and kissed her. Then he ran his fingers through her dampened hair to brush it all back off her face. She sighed and closed her eyes at the welcome feel of his adoring touch. Finally. Finally.

After their shower, he dried her off before drying himself off and then he took her hand and lead to their bed where he piled up some pillows for her. He sat on the bed with her and gently towel-dried her hair, massaging her scalp as he did so. She moaned under his touch. She was in heaven.

When he had done all he could with the towel, he left her to go get her hair dryer. He plugged it into the nearest outlet, climbed onto the bed and knelt beside her to blow-dry her hair. She reveled in the sensations of warm air and his fingers gliding through her long locks, and looking at his beautiful, nude body beside her.

He left her again briefly to put away the dryer. She turned the covers down all the way to the foot of the bed and pulled back only the top sheet on this warm evening. After the hot shower and the dryer and the heat of their renewed connection, they wouldn't need anything more. He turned off the lights and they got into bed together.

Feeling quite refreshed, Joan wrapped herself around Adam. She ran her hand over his chest, toying with the tiny patch of hair just below his collar. She placed soft, moist kisses all over his face as she whispered, "Welcome home."

* * *

On Wednesday night, Joan was in the kitchen, finally setting up the things she had been planning to the night before. Adam hung the rack on the wall after work and they unpacked two boxes of the stuff that she was sorting through now.

Then, he went upstairs to finish up with his dad's things. She wasn't sure it was such a good idea for him to have another go at all those reminders of the past so soon, but he had given her a brave and honest smile and told her that he wanted to get it over with, to finally put it to rest.

She could understand that. Maybe, if he just managed to close that chapter in his book of sad memories, he would finally be able look toward the future. _Their_ future.

When the phone rang, she put down the soup ladle she was holding and shouted up to him, "I'll get it."

When she answered the phone, a familiar voice greeted her, "Joan? This is Louisa."

"Oh, hi. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," she replied in the usual small-talk manner. But she couldn't keep the worry out of her voice when she said, "I just wanted to call to see how you guys are doing."

Joan thought quickly. She wasn't sure how much she should be disclosing to Louisa about their—or rather Adam's recent mini-crisis. Conversationally, she answered, "Oh, we're doing OK. You know, still moving in furniture, setting things up. It's a little crazy sometimes, but we're working on it. We're gonna have a house-warming party when it's all done. You should come. You're not gonna recognize this place."

"Well, it hasn't had a woman's touch in ten years so I'm sure I won't." But Louisa's voice was still concerned, maybe even more so than before. "And Adam? How's he doing?"

_Oh,_ Joan pondered, _maybe Louisa knows more than I thought. _Carefully, she disclosed, "He's been going through some stuff of his dad's. You know, there are some pretty heavy memories in those boxes."

There was silence for a moment before Louisa answered, "He called me yesterday. He wanted to know about something that happened between Carl and Elizabeth a long time ago. He's having a really hard time with it. I've been worried about him ever since we talked."

Joan breathed a soft sigh of relief. So Aunt Louisa did know what was going on, probably more than she knew herself. Of course she did; Carl was her brother. Joan's reservations left her now. She was grateful that she could talk openly. Her breath was heavy in her chest when she remembered back to what transpired the night before. "Well, he's... to be honest, he had a bit of a breakdown last night. Did he tell you about the letter he found?"

"Yes, that's what he called to ask me about."

"Well, he... he was really freaked out that his dad hit his mom. But he just couldn't talk about it. I've never seen him so twisted up. He found the letter on Thursday night but he didn't tell me until last night... after a fight. It was kind of ugly there for a minute, but when he finally got it all out in the open, he was so relieved. We both were. It was so sad, Louisa, he cried in my arms until he just couldn't cry anymore. He was really scared that he might be like his dad, that he might hit me too."

"Oh Joan," Louisa forced out compassionately, "I don't think that's possible. He's such a sweet boy."

"I know. I know that better than anybody. I'm trying to make sure he believes that too. I think he's gonna be OK. He seems fine today."

_Seems_ fine? A disturbing thought began to form in Joan's head, something that was only a nagging feeling the day before. He seemed fine, but was he? The bottom fell out of his world a few days ago. But last night, after he poured all that anguish out to her, there had been that crazy upswing—that amazing high they had both been riding in the shower. It was all there. From the five-day-long depression he disappeared into to the sudden reappearance of the man she loved. Could it be that Adam was showing the first signs of bipolar disorder, just like his mother?

Her voice came out worried and hesitant. "Louisa, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Honey."

She didn't quite know how to start. "I guess I'm... still a little worried about him. That whole time, he was so... completely deflated. He wouldn't talk, wouldn't eat, wouldn't do anything. And then, last night, when he finally told me what he was feeling, he had such a total meltdown. But once he let it all out and we talked about it, he was all right. We..." Joan suddenly wasn't sure if she should actually say so, but it was the truth, "...we made love almost immediately afterward and it was amazing. He was so ardent, so totally in the moment. And this morning, he was himself again."

She paused for a moment before she asked the question that was weighing more heavily on her mind now that she was actually voicing her concerns, spelling them out. "Was Elizabeth like that? Could it be that..." She let the sentence hang in the air, too afraid to finish it, to say the words out loud.

Louisa thought she knew what Joan was trying to say. "If you're asking me if Adam is manic depressive, I don't think so... But what you just described is classic. The lows are awful, but the highs _are_ amazing. That's why a lot of spouses stay in denial for so long."

Joan pondered that.

"I'm not trying to scare you, Joan."

"I know. It does kind of look like the signs are all there, the depression, the upswing afterwards. I saw it all over the last five days."

"Have you ever seen him like that before?" Louisa asked.

"Well, there was this one time in high school. It lasted more than two weeks. And, you know what? He got really... um, amorous right after that one too. We had our first kiss." Joan drifted into back into the memory of that crazy-impulsive and oh-so-perfect kiss all those years ago. "But, um, we didn't see each other for a while when he was in Rhode Island."

"You were there for him when Carl died, was he ever like that then?"

Joan thought back. "No, not like that. He came to me after it happened. He was shocked, devastated. He cried a lot. I made him stay over because I was so worried about him. But I would say that he reacted to everything he went through with the whole ordeal as normally as anyone. If anything, I remember thinking a couple of times that he was being really strong. I thought maybe he'd just grown up."

"That's the way it seemed to me too. He stepped up to be the man... Joan, I think he might just be grieving for his father. He's going through a lot of changes right now—mostly good changes—but changes always bring stress. And finding that letter finally brought it all home to him. It's real now. His parents are really gone. But now he has you."

Joan felt relieved. "We talked about that last night. How he never really had time to grieve properly because of what happened with us."

"I'm sure that's it. I wouldn't worry too much about this episode. If it only happens once every decade or so, he's fine. He's human. Just keep an eye on him." Louisa paused, then went on, "I'm glad he found you again. I'd be worried about him if he was alone. He has always been a little remote. He needs people who love him and I worry that he doesn't seek them out. You just keep taking good care of him."

"I will." Joan smiled. It warmed her heart to know that Adam was not left alone in the world with only a handful of friends. He still had family who loved him too. It made her wish they lived a little closer so they could see each other more frequently.

"Any word yet on when the wedding's going to be?" Louisa asked, trying to bring the conversation around to something more pleasant.

"No, not yet. We were gonna do it this year, but it doesn't look like that's going to work out. There's just so much to do! I promise we'll call you as soon as we set a date."

"Well, whenever it is, I'll be there," Louisa said immediately. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I'll hand you over to Adam now, I'm sure he'll wanna talk to you. Let me run the portable phone upstairs."

"Thank you, Joan. For everything. God bless you," Aunt Louisa said.

As Joan walked up the upstairs, she mused, _Yes, where exactly was God through all of this?_ In fact, why hadn't He chimed in at all during her entire courtship with Adam? Did He not have an opinion He felt the need to foist on her? Did He think she had finally grown up enough to open her eyes and realize for herself where help was most needed? Was He finally trusting her to manage her own life without divine intervention?

Sitting on the floor with a box of photos in his lap, Adam looked up at her as she entered the bedroom. "Aunt Louisa," she said and held out the phone to him. He took it wordlessly and she gave him an encouraging smile as she affectionately ran her hand through his clean, soft hair.

Then she left the room to give them some privacy. They would undoubtedly have a lot to talk about, and she hoped that his aunt could quell any last remaining doubts he had about becoming this person that he so feared he might become.

Half an hour later, Adam came down the stairs and into the kitchen. He went over to Joan and held out a photo to her, "Here, that's how I want to remember them."

It depicted Carl and Elizabeth standing next to each other in an embrace, both smiling happily at the camera.

She took it from his hands, studying it carefully. They looked young, maybe in their late twenties. "That's a great picture. Let's frame it and put it on the mantelpiece."

"Yeah," he smiled at her. "We need a picture of your mom and dad to go with it, maybe also one of Kevin and Luke, and one of us."

"Sure," she nodded, then kissed the tip of his nose. "I love you."

He drew closer and sought out her lips. "I love you too," he quickly mumbled before he kissed her, long and deep.

There were new tears glistening in her eyes when she finally pulled back.

"Hey," his voice was soft and deep in a way that it hadn't been for days. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she smiled. "I'm just glad to see you happy again." But that wasn't true. It wasn't nothing. There was the faintest doubt still stirring in her belly that this was just an upswing, a stretch of mania. How long would it last before another bout of depression set in?

"Yeah," he said just above a whisper. "I'm glad too. You know, I was getting really sick of myself towards the end there. I guess I just needed that push you gave me." He drew her closer and hugged her. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Then he took her by her hips and pushed her back a bit, looking her in the eyes. "Aunt Louisa doesn't either."

"She really cares about you," Joan told him.

"I know." He gave her a sly smile and said, "She was going on and on about the wedding. You've heard her. She'd probably plan it for us if we didn't already have your mom. Listening to her talk about it, I think I'm even more scared of the whole thing now."

"You are?" That surprised her. He'd never said anything like that before. He never seemed to have any doubts.

He could read it in her face and he quickly reassured her, "No, I didn't mean it like that. I want to marry you, Jane, more than anything. I can't imagine my life without you."

There were tears in her eyes again. "OK, stop, you're gonna make me cry." She handed him a kitchen towel. "Are you done upstairs? I could use some help with all this china and cutlery."

"No, I'm not done," he said, but he took the towel anyway. "But I can give you a hand for a while."

"Thank you." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, content with its return to delicious, fuzz-free smoothness. "And for the record, I wanna marry you too."

And just for a second, she wondered what would happen if her fears ever came true? In all that worrying about being like his father, it never occurred to Adam to worry about being like his mother. She hoped it still didn't. That thought alone would be a burden he might buckle under.

But what if it wasn't a fluke? What if dark days did return? Would she have the strength to deal with all the implications and consequences if he really got sick? She quickly reminded herself that medicine was advancing faster than ever.

She tried not to let her thoughts show on her face as she handed Adam the plate that she had just finished washing. He smiled at her and brushed her finger with one of his own as he took it. There was so much affection in that simple gesture, it made her sigh. One thing she knew with absolute certainty if she knew nothing else, she would never give up on him.

* * *


	19. Break The Night With Color

_**Chapter 16**_  
**Break The Night With Color**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
There's a place in Duisburg, Germany that is beyond cool. It's called the "Landschaftspark" and the "Blast Park" that I introduced in chapter "Deep Black" is the US version of it, I guess. I've only been there once, but it made a lasting impression. I don't wanna explain too much about it, you can read it in the chapter that's to follow. To get a visual impression of what I'm talking about, have a look at this image: www.landschaftspark.de/en/service/download/01.jpg_

_**Summary:**  
Adam and Joan finally take a trip to the Blast Park to talk about some important things on their minds._

_**Rated PG**_

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool._

* * *

There was just something about men when they were asleep—this one in particular. Joan stood in the doorway to their bedroom, but Adam had his back turned towards her, so she couldn't see his face, only the back of his head with the cutely disheveled dark hair poking out from under the covers. It was Saturday and Adam was still fast asleep.

She had just finished making breakfast and it was half past nine but she just didn't have the heart to wake him. Still, a good eight and a half hours of sleep should be more than enough, so she quietly went to her side of the bed and slowly crawled on beside him. She lay next to him and watched him for a while. He looked so sweet, so innocent; his eyes closed, breathing deeply, that little whistle in his nose making her ache to touch him.

A broad smile spread over her lips and her right index finger moved to his face, just brushing the skin of his cheek. He stirred slightly and Joan had to suppress the urge to giggle. Her finger moved down his face and his hand came out from under the covers as if he wanted to brush away an annoying insect. When she didn't stop, he slowly opened his eyes, seeing her smiling sweetly at him. She bent over to softly kiss him.

His voice was still deep and sleepy when he said, "That's what I call a sweet awakening."

"You are so cute when you're sleeping," she sighed dreamily.

"What time is it?"

"Just around 9:30. And breakfast is ready."

"Oh wow," he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You've been busy. How long have you been up?"

"I don't know. An hour maybe?" She rolled onto her back and reached for something on the nightstand, holding it out to Adam. "Hey, I was thinking, how 'bout we do this tonight?"

Adam was still not very alert when his hand went out and he took from her hand what looked like a pair of concert tickets. It took him a few seconds to focus his bleary eyes on the writing. "The Blast Park? You kept these?"

"Of course I kept them. You didn't really think I'd sell them on eBay, did you?" She briefly thought back to how her idea to lure Adam there had backfired the first time. She had wanted to take him there to get him to talk, to make him snap out of his depression.

There was only the slightest hint of sadness in his voice. "No. I don't know. You were pretty mad at me. And you can be a little... unpredictable when you're mad."

"Yeah, I was mad, for a while. But I was really more desperate than anything. I hate to see you hurting."

He looked away from her as a little bit of embarrassment colored his cheeks.

"Forget about that. Let's not dwell on it anymore."

He nodded and smiled at her. "OK."

"So what do you think? Wanna go?"

"Yeah, I'd love to."

"Then, we'd better get your day started." She tugged at his covers. "Come on, sleepyhead, get out of bed. Coffee's getting cold."

He groaned mockingly. "If I must..."

She gave him another quick peck on the cheek. "You must."

She hopped off the bed and stood next to his side, waiting for him to sluggishly sit up. She grabbed his hand and pulled at him. "Get a move on, lazy butt."

He let himself be pulled up and moved right into her arms, kissing her. She quickly drew back. "Ew. Adam, morning breath, stubble. Bathroom. Now." She laughed and pointed in that direction.

"Geez, I thought you were used to my morning breath by now. You don't usually complain."

"Well, that's because when we're still in bed, I've got morning breath too. We cancel each other out. Now, go!"

He made a pouty face but obliged. And as he walked away from her, Joan had to suppress the urge to squeeze his adorable bum.

* * *

Joan shone the flashlight in front of her to light up the narrow stairs of the metal structure that led up the decommissioned steel factory tower, now illuminated by blue, red, green and yellow lights. It gave the whole scene an eerie and surreal atmosphere, the light reflecting on the pipes and steel structures. She tugged at Adam's hand as he followed close behind her. She was eager to get to the top. "Come on, let's get up there."

"I'm trying, but I can't see a damn thing."

"Oh, sorry." Joan turned around to give him some light and hit him right in the eyes with the flashlight beam.

He squinted painfully. "Great, that helps."

Joan laughed. "Don't be so grumpy. Look at all this, this is great."

"I can't. I'm blind now," he joked.

Joan turned around fully, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "Quit whining, you wuss."

In response he suddenly grabbed her waist and started tickling her.

Joan squealed and wriggled wildly to escape his nimble fingers. "Stop!" she laughed at him. "Adam, stop, or you're gonna make me fall off this thing!"

He stopped for a second and looked down over the railing. It was a good ten feet down now from where they stood. That persuaded him. He wormed past Joan, taking her hand, dragging her up the stairs. "Come on, let's get up there," he said mischievously.

"Hey, not fair! That was my line!" But she followed him eagerly.

Once at the top, they stood at the railing of the platform overlooking the whole compound. Colored spotlights glowed between the factory structures, painting a funky picture. "Wow, this is cool," he said.

"Unchallenged," she replied.

He looked at her, amused. It was just too cute when she used his favorite old expression from their teen years. He drew her closer to him and his arm went around her waist. She returned the gesture immediately, and he pulled her closer yet and kissed her on top of her head.

Her voice sounded dreamy when she said, "This is pretty romantic, in a weird way. I love it."

She pulled from his embrace to sit down on the metal floor, her legs dangling over the edge with a metal bar in front of her at breast height. He watched her do so and then joined her.

The touch of her hand on his thigh made him look at her. He could feel the goose bumps forming all over him. "Thanks for the tickets. This place is amazing."

"Well, it was your idea, originally."

"I really wish I hadn't been such an ass about it when you first showed me the tickets. You totally didn't deserve that."

Her voice was soft and placating. "No, I didn't. But you were going through something. I mean, that's still no excuse for being a jerk, but at least now I understand what you were dealing with."

"Yeah, I..." He started and stopped. What could he say? Those five gloomy days were a taint on the otherwise impeccable memory of his lasting romance with Joan—the woman he loved with all his might. "I was really outta line. I'm sorry."

"Baby, you don't need to apologize anymore, OK? It's over. All that matters is we don't let it happen again."

"We won't," he told her firmly. "I know I should've told you. I should've just showed you the letter when I found it. I think maybe I was a little... ashamed... of my dad, what he did. And that felt so awful. I didn't know how to handle it." He took her hand and looked her in the eyes, very seriously. "You don't know how grateful I am that you stuck with me when I was giving you no reason to. You're an amazing woman, Jane."

Her eyes glistened ever so slightly with tears in the dim and colorful light. Almost whispering, she said, "No, Adam, you _did_ give me a reason to stay. I love you and I knew you needed me, even though you wouldn't admit it. That's more than enough reason."

He kissed her hand and fell silent for several seconds, his eyes fixed on the colored lights ahead of him. "I still think about that letter sometimes. The things my mom said. At least I know both sides now. It helps to have a little perspective. But, you know, I read some more of the stuff that was in those boxes and... their whole history... it was all sort of tragic."

He paused and turned his head to look at Joan. She was looking back at him, listening patiently, attentively. He went on, "They were pretty young when they got married; my dad was 24 and my mom was 23." He smiled at Joan, only too aware that they were just reaching that age now. "I don't think he knew about her illness. Maybe it hadn't even manifested yet. The first medical records I found date back to 1979, when she was 26. Must've been really hard on both of them."

Joan studied Adam, recalling her fear that he might be suffering from the same disorder as his mother. She was grateful that his Aunt Louisa had been there to reassure her, to help her see that she shouldn't jump to conclusions too quickly. But she still felt like she had seen a tiny glimpse of what it must be like to live with someone who was manic depressive.

He didn't notice her momentary lapse of concentration and kept talking. "I mean, it really makes me wonder what their lives were like when they were young. Were they ever really happy? Was that even possible with her being the way she was? With that huge shadow looming over her after they found out she was sick?"

"Adam, I'm sure they were..." Joan offered.

"I guess... But a lot of the medications they gave her made her... I don't know..." He touched the metal railing in front of him and absently let his index finger glide over its surface. "She used to make these little pencil drawings and write stuff on the back, like how she felt. Or didn't feel. Dad kept those. Sometimes, she would just draw a black blob and write that she felt 'nothing'. Can you imagine feeling like that? And being told you have no choice but to feel like that?"

The expression in Adam's eyes was contemplative, even sorrowful. "I'm beginning to think it's pretty amazing that she lasted as long as she did," he whispered. The frown on his forehead didn't belie the ache in his soul for his mother and all the hardship she had endured. It was all Joan could do to take his hand and squeeze it a little.

In a soft voice, she said, "She must've been a really brave woman."

"I think she was a really scared and tormented woman," he said in a low voice, then added, "But she had my dad. I know they were really in love, and I know now that he did everything he could for her. Just sucks that it wasn't enough."

The sentence hung in the air for a moment, both of them trying hard not to think too much about Elizabeth's ultimate solution to dealing with her pain and suffering.

Then Joan said, "But it wasn't always like that. They were happy sometimes. Remember when we watched some of your home videos? She was smiling in every one of them... It's a sad, sad thing that your mother died so young, but she had joy in her life too. She had _you_." She threaded her fingers through his finally.

He smiled a small, sad smile, looking at her gratefully. "Yeah," he said just above a whisper.

"I think you need to remember that."

"Yeah, I know..." he trailed off, seemed to drift into memory again.

"What?" Joan said gently, urging him on.

"From what I saw in her medical records, she almost didn't..."

"Didn't what?"

"Have me... I found this letter from her regular doctor to her OB-GYN. Apparently, she and my dad had been trying to have a baby until her doctor put a stop to it. He said she shouldn't get pregnant because of the medications she was on; 'potential harm to the fetus' and all that. It really sounded like he was ready to wash his hands of her if she did it AMA."

"AMA?"

"Against medical advice... Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"Wonder what? How you were born?"

"Yeah... I never really thought about how weird it was that they were married for 13 years before I was born. She was 36 when she had me. So what happened? Did they agree to stop trying because of her meds? Then what? Was I an accident?"

"Adam, there is nothing accidental about you. Maybe you were more like... a miracle."

He shrugged, seemed unconvinced.

"Whether you wanna see it that way or not, you can bet your last dollar that's how your mom saw it."

"Maybe... Makes me think about what she said when Dad hit her. That she would take me and just walk away. That would have broken his heart."

"Yeah," Joan whispered. A knot had formed in her stomach. It was all so mind-boggling. She felt for Adam, for all the ghosts in his past, the skeletons in the closet that his parents had left him with.

When she looked back at him, he was staring off into the night.

She touched his arm to draw his attention and she gave him a hopeful smile. "Hey, you know what? You should ask to Aunt Lou about all of this. I'm sure there's a lot she could tell you—about your dad, about your mom. About you."

"Yeah."

"Beats sitting here letting all these questions and doubts tax your brain, right?"

Suddenly, there was a joyous glint in Adam's eyes as he looked at Joan. "You're such a smart woman."

She grinned at him. "That's why you're marrying me."

"Oh yeah," he laughed lightly, then sobered a little. "You know, we could drive up to Aunt Lou's place some Sunday afternoon. We have an open invitation. It'd be great to see her and Jamie and the gang."

"Gang?"

"Oh," he let a little chortle escape him. "Jamie and his wife have three boys. I never mentioned that?"

"Nope."

"Yeah, they're barely 29 and they have three sons already. Can you believe that? They're a total mess. You'd love them. Wanna ride up there sometime soon?"

"Yeah, I'd love to," Joan readily agreed. She looked at him for a long moment, at how his mouth curved into a smile. Then she leaned over and kissed him—very softly, very sensually.

When she broke away, he asked, "What was that for?"

"For taking my advice and starting anew."

He just looked at her, the confusion visible on his face.

Her smile faded slowly. "That night when you finally told me about your mom's letter, remember how I asked you to talk about what's bothering you from now on?"

He nodded. They were back to that night, but he thought that maybe finally some good might come out of all that anguish.

She went on, "You just did. You talked about what's going on in your head. That's a good start. I'm really glad you did it."

He couldn't help but smile again. "Yeah, I'm glad too."

He pulled her into a warm embrace, kissing her, stroking the bare skin on her arm. They sat there like that for a long time. And it was as if the colored lights that broke the darkness of the tepid summer night all around them presented a symbol of their future together—unique and variegating and illuminating and full of life.

* * *


	20. Reclamation

**_Chapter 17  
_Reclamation**

_by Sisterdebmac_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
This one's pretty much fluff. Adam and Joan have been through enough lately. A huge thanks again to TeeJay for the additional material. You saved my butt again, girl. You know that I couldn't do this without you. _

_**Synopsis:**  
Adam feels compelled to get on with the outside renovations he has long-wanted to do to his property. Joan rallies the troops so that they can get it all done. Even the shed gets a make-over. _

_**Overall Rating for Chapter: PG-13** for language._

_**Disclaimer:** They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah. _

* * *

Sun on a Sunday morning was always a beautiful sight. On this particular Sunday, it was the harbinger of a brand new era.

When Joan awoke on this glorious morning, the first of her senses to lock in brought her the delicious aroma of fresh brewed coffee. Next, she opened her eyes and saw the warm, golden glow of a crisp, clear day. She felt hopeful and refreshed. But when she reached back to touch her love, she found that he was not in bed beside her. Ah well, it was nice to see him up and about and motivated the way he had been for the last two weeks.

She got up and headed for the bathroom, but movement outside the window caught her eye. She looked out and saw that Adam was milling around in the back yard, looking toward the house with a big sketch pad in his hand. She laughed when she saw that he was in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. She wondered if he'd been in the front yard dressed like that.

She did her business in the bathroom, threw on a t-shirt and shorts, then went downstairs and got herself a cup of that coffee before she stepped out into the backyard. Adam looked up and smiled at her when he saw her, and she crossed the small yard and kissed him.

"Morning, baby."

"Mmmmm," he said, kissing her back for a little longer than she expected.

She threw an arm around his neck and savored every second he gave her. "I missed you upstairs," she told him.

"I know, I'm sorry. I needed to do this."

"What?" she asked, moving around to see what he'd been sketching. He showed it to her. It was the yard, but not. It wasn't a patchy, knotty mess on the page. There were sculptures and flower beds, and a patio and a little path from there to the shed. "Wow, this is ambitious."

"We can do it. I've done tons of research online. I know what grass to plant and which flowers can survive being planted this late in the year. I found these great stones we can make the path with. I think I can even do the patio myself."

"And you're gonna build all these sculptures too?"

"No, I'm gonna move the ones from the front yard back here. I think the front of the house should be a little more... grown up. I'll plant new grass out there and you can do a little rock garden or something. Whatever you think will look cool."

She slipped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. "That sounds great."

"We could get started today. At least shop for a few things we'll need."

"Shopping's good. I like shopping."

He put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her head. "Then we'll shop. Wanna go out for breakfast or make something here?"

"Let's make something here. Then we can take our time."

It was Sunday and they had all day so they fell back into bed for a while and then had a shower before they even started cooking breakfast.

By 1 pm, they were strolling the aisles of Lowe's. They filled a cart with gardening supplies and a couple of cans of paint they wanted to test on the exterior of the house. Two shades of blue, slate and storm. They also grabbed checkout cards for the large items that would have to be delivered. When Adam took out his credit card to pay, the clerk asked if he'd like to apply for a store credit card. With everything they planned to do to the house and yards, he thought it made more sense to do that than to load up the Visa.

They arranged for the stones for the path, the concrete for the patio, the rocks for the garden and the grass for both yards to be delivered over the next two weekends. They stuffed everything that would fit into the Forester and headed home.

For the rest of the afternoon, they made plans. Adam sketched out everything they wanted to do so they both could see exactly what they were going to create. Joan could barely take her eyes off him all day. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him so focused and full of purpose.

He felt her watching him and looked up from his sketch pad where they sat at the kitchen table. "What?" he smiled.

"I just... love you. That's all."

"Oh, that's all." He leaned forward and she met his lips for a sweet kiss.

"That, and I'm proud of you."

"For what?" He looked at her a little quizzically.

"Who you are. All of this. Everything you do."

He had no idea what to say. None. All he could do was whisper, "Jane..."

"You're taking on an awful lot. Especially considering that there are still things to do inside the house."

"Well, I'm not alone, am I?" he asked rhetorically.

"God no. Of course not. You know I'm right there with you every step of the way. And we have Grace and Karen coming to help too."

"Maybe I could even get Brody for some of the heavy lifting," he suggested.

"See? We'll be fine. We'll get it done."

"Yeah," he smiled.

"And we'll have a huge party when it's all ready." She could already see Adam standing at the grill they planned to buy for the patio, turning the meat, the scent wafting through the neighborhood.

"Sure."

She got up and went to sit in his lap, wrapping her arms around him as she did so. "You know what I think?"

"Tell me."

"I think we're gonna have the cutest, funkiest little love nest in the neighborhood."

She kissed him and he felt it in his toes, and everywhere else. "Um... you feel like a nap before dinner?" he whispered in her ear.

She grinned at him. "You know suddenly, I really feel like I need to lay down for a while."

* * *

Even before the weekend, they were already working on Adam's "Reclamation". Beginning in the back yard, they had cleared out the yard waste all the way to every corner, and Adam had rented a tiller and prepared the yards with sandy loam soil and fertilizer for the new grass. He marked off the area where the patio was going to go. And then he measured the bases of the sculptures and marked off their spots too. He did the same with each stone. Since each one was unique in size and shape, he got a little carried away with picking spots for each one that would make the whole picture aesthetically pleasing to him.

By ten on Saturday, when everyone had agreed to start the day, Adam and Joan were already at work. Adam dug out trenches and hammered the heavy blackened ash boards they had selected for the flower boxes into the earth. Of course the locations of the three boxes were all marked off and agreed upon in advance too.

He was being very meticulous about the whole thing. Watching him, Joan thought it was kind of adorable, especially as she could see his back muscles working under his already sweat-stained t-shirt. She had to suppress the urge to go over and grab him right there.

She went back inside and answered a knock at the front door, finding Karen standing there with Grace bearing a huge tray of chopped fruit. "I thought I'd make smoothies later as a pick-me-up," she explained as Joan unburdened her of it and stepped aside to usher them in. They followed Joan to the kitchen where she stored the fruit in the fridge.

Brody showed up half an hour later and they all got down to business. When they broke for smoothies at about 3:30 in the afternoon, the men had moved all the stones for the path into place. As the women carefully rolled out the grass in some areas, Adam and Brody began installing the sculptures. It took a lot of cooperation to get everything arranged, but together they all shaped the yard and finished it.

They decided that Adam and Brody would sod the front yard, roll out all the grass, if possible before dark. Joan and Karen decided to cook for everyone and Grace was sent to the store.

She came back with more groceries than she was sent for and Caesar in tow. "I won't let him pee on the new grass, OK?" she said as they entered.

Joan just laughed and took a bag from her as Karen came and got the other one. Grace unhooked Caesar from his leash and he gratefully shook out his coat.

"Did you find everything OK?"

"I do know my way around Whole Foods."

"And Bed, Bath & Beyond and Costco," Karen chimed in, "all the havens of the modern domestic goddess."

Grace shot Karen a look that Joan perceived as reproving. Joan smiled and started to say something, but Grace shut her down quickly. "Don't speak, Girardi."

Joan dropped the bag on the kitchen counter and raised her hands in surrender. "Wasn't gonna."

As Karen and Joan unloaded the grocery bags and found lots of extra goodies, Grace found herself wandering out to the front yard where Adam and Brody were rolling out the grass. "Need any help?" she asked.

They both looked up at her. "Sure, grab a roll," Adam said.

The three of them alternated rows and it went very fast. Once the turf was laid, they cut it all in cleanly. When they finished, they decided that they'd done all they could do for the day.

Brody led them to the back of his truck. He dropped the tailgate and pulled a cooler closer. It was stocked with beer. He took out a Belhaven and handed it to Adam. The Scottish ale was a luxury that Adam only rarely allowed and Brody knew it. Today, Adam gladly accepted it. They popped the tops and hopped up onto the tailgate to drink the bold brew.

"What's your pleasure, Grace? I've got a little bit of everything."

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

"Come on, you gotta be thirsty by now," Brody said.

"Got a water?"

"Nope."

"I'm cool," she reiterated a little more pointedly and she went back inside.

She found Joan marinating the steaks they had bought and Karen cutting potatoes into wedges. Everyone agreed that a hearty, protein and carb rich meal was what they all needed. "I think we're all done outside for today. Anything I can do?" Grace asked.

"Sure, clean and chop for the salad?" Joan said.

Grace looked around at the limited counter-space, all of which was already taken up. "Where?"

Joan cleared the little kitchen table for her and gave her a cutting board, a nice, sharp knife and the assortment of veggies she had chosen. Grace sat down and got to business.

"So, Joan, you were saying?" Karen said.

"Oh, uh, next weekend, we're painting the exterior. Brody's bringing these two kids he works with at the community center. Of course we'll feed them and pay them."

"Oooh, we're getting' paid?" Grace snarked.

"Not you, no. We have to pay these kids because they don't know us and love us enough to help out for a meal and some good company."

"Mighty presumptuous of you there, Girardi."

"Grace, what are you gonna call me when my last name is Rove?"

"I'll figure that out, if it ever happens."

"Grace!" Karen shot her a glare.

"Well?" Grace shrugged.

"We're gonna set a date," Joan said defensively. "We _are_, it's just..."

"Just what? You finally running out of excuses?" Grace countered.

Karen stopped what she was doing and eyed Grace with a hand on her hip. Joan stopped too, but she only looked down at her hands. And at Elizabeth's beautiful ring on her finger. "You're right. I really don't know what we're waiting for anymore," she said quietly, like a revelation.

Both Karen and Grace looked at her.

"Could you—?" she said, drawing Karen's eyes to the steaks. "I'll be back."

They watched her leave through the front as Karen moved to take over with the steaks.

Joan found Adam still hanging out with Brody on the back of his truck. They were laughing and somehow it sounded like the kind of laughter girls were not allowed to share. Adam's face actually turned red when he saw her coming toward him so she was sure she had caught them in the middle of one of Brody's rather notoriously bawdy stories.

"Can I borrow him for a minute?" she asked Brody as she caught Adam's shirtsleeve and almost pulled him off the truck. His half-empty beer sloshed a little and he set it down on the tailgate before she could drag him bodily away.

When they were out of earshot, Joan drew Adam's gaze to her and held it very seriously. "Adam, why haven't we set a date yet?"

"Because... because, I don't know. I thought you didn't want to."

"No, I do. I just— There was just a lot to consider and we've been working on the house and then you... we got side-tracked."

"Yeah." He knew she was talking about his little breakdown.

"So we should start thinking about it again, right?"

"Jane, you know that if I had things my way, we'd be married already. As soon as you and your mom can make it happen, that's the date I want."

Her eyes welled up a little as she reached out and took his work-stained hand. She pressed it to her cheek and he felt a twinge of emotion as he saw his dirty palm against her smooth, perfect skin. He kissed her very softly and whispered, "I love you."

She smiled at him sweetly and released his hand with great reluctance. "I'll go call Mom right now."

She headed back inside and Adam watched her until she disappeared and through the door. Then he made his way back to Brody's truck as his friend popped the top of another beer and handed it to him.

"What was that all about?" Brody asked.

"Looks like I might finally be getting married after all."

"Well, all right, man," he held his beer bottle out and Adam toasted it.

Joan popped into the kitchen long enough to ask Grace and Karen to finish making dinner, then she retreated upstairs and called Helen. Quickly getting the pleasantries out of the way, Joan said, "Mom, we need to set a wedding date. No more fooling around. And don't ask me if I'm pregnant. I'm not. We just can't figure out what we're stalling for anymore, so how soon do you think we can do it?"

"I take it the... what is it? Reclamation?"

"Yes."

"It's going well?"

"Really well. I can't wait for you to see the place."

"And you can't wait to get married."

"Why should we?"

Helen smiled, understanding that her only daughter was perfectly serious in her question. "OK," she said. "Traditionally, it takes about three months to pull together a proper wedding."

"December? Adam doesn't have any vacation time left this year so we wouldn't be able to have a honeymoon."

"January?"

"God, January is so bleak and cold."

"Valentine's Day?"

"Cheesy, Mom."

"Well, you know, your dad and I got married in the first week of April and it was spring so it was a really nice time to do it. And it was before peak travel season so we got a good deal."

"And that would mean our anniversaries would be close together so Adam and Dad could remind each other."

"That's a plus."

"I'll run it by him."

"I'll start planning."

Just as Joan hung up the phone, Adam entered the bedroom. "Oh, sorry. I was just gonna go clean up. Brody's got the downstairs bathroom."

"It's fine. I'm done."

He closed the door behind them. "Did we set a date?"

"How do you feel about the first week of April?"

"April? Jane, that's seven months away!"

"I know. But we can't do it this year. We don't want to have a Christmas wedding and you don't have any time left so we couldn't go away for a real honeymoon."

"But April?"

"It'll be spring. It'll be all green and beautiful and it's the perfect time of year to get good deals on travel."

"I don't know..."

"I don't wanna wait seven more months either."

"Then let's don't." He stepped into her space and looked at her almost pleadingly.

She rose from the bed and stood before him. "Just think about it. We'll have time to get done with the house. We won't have to be stressed out of our minds over the holidays. And we can take at least a week off and go someplace really awesome once it's all over with. And this time, we'll use the Jacuzzi," she grinned at him and then repeated, "Just think about it."

He leaned forward and kissed her hard. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling his damp, sticky t-shirt. She couldn't care less at that moment. Right then, she wished their friends were gone and the house was empty. So did he. Her stomach fluttered when she felt his hands on her ass. Amazingly bold for him with people waiting for them downstairs. In a matter of seconds, they were both going to be in trouble, past the point of no return. Before that could happen, she broke the kiss.

"Whoa..." she breathed against him as he continued to hold her. "I need to get back downstairs before someone comes looking for me. And you..." she put a hand flat on his chest, "need to take a shower."

"OK," he resigned, smiling at her.

"But, do hold that thought until later."

Dinner was ready by the time Adam finished his quick shower. Brody cleaned up as best he could in the half bath. Joan set the table just as Karen and Grace were ready to serve and she uncorked two nice bottles of red wine and put them out along with ice water for everyone.

They set a family style table, everything in serving dishes for everyone to dive into. There was a killer mixed greens salad with extra cut veggies on the side to add to it. Karen had made her famous garlic and rosemary roasted potatoes. A hot, crusty loaf of whole grain bread sat steaming, waiting to be slathered with whipped honey butter. And there were five excellent boneless ribeyes.

Brody was the first one to the table. "You have no idea how hungry I am right now. I promise I'll try to maintain my manners but the table looks so great, I'm not sure I'll succeed."

Adam laughed as the girls seated themselves. He went around the table pouring a glass of wine for Brody, then Joan, himself, then Karen and finally, Grace. She put her hand over her glass and looked at him. He accepted her quick, hard, non-verbal no and backed away. Noting that he'd have to find out what that was about later, he merely sat down and let it go for now.

Grace's abrupt refusal didn't get by Karen either. It was a little weird. Grace liked a glass of wine with dinner. Not every night, certainly. But an impromptu dinner party with friends was exactly the kind of situation in which she would usually imbibe. "You OK?" Karen asked.

"Fine," was Grace's terse reply.

Like Adam, she shook it off for the moment. She could talk about it with Grace once they got home.

Dinner was delicious and the conversation was kept light. Karen and Brody teased Joan and Adam about the whole setting the wedding date thing and Joan told them they were thinking about April.

Grace and Adam exchanged glances more than once and though they tried to keep things light too, neither of them said a great deal. For all appearances, everything was just fine. But Grace never thought for a second that she was fooling him. He knew something was wrong.

Two hours later, Brody was gone and Adam enlisted Grace to help him with the dishes. He chased their women off into the living room, ordering them to put up their feet and relax for a while.

"Thanks," he said as he washed and she dried.

"It's dishes, Rove. What's the big?"

"I mean for everything. For today and for coming over when I was... you know."

"O...K." She stopped for a second and looked at him. "You used to be better at this."

He stopped too. "What?"

"Don't play innocent with me. You're trying to get me to talk."

"Maybe," he admitted.

She squinted at him for a long moment. "There was a time when you knew all my secrets."

"And you knew mine."

She nodded.

"You can still talk to me," he told her.

"I know," she sighed. And she turned away quickly as a single tear dislodged from her right eye. She wiped it away almost angrily.

He waited. That's what you did with Grace. You waited and she would choose whether to let you in or not in her own time.

"My mother's drinking again," she finally said flatly. "My dad and I found her drunk the other night and a friend of hers called and told him that she'd been drunk a couple of times at their club."

"I'm sorry," Adam whispered.

"She had four years and six months. That's a long fucking time, dude."

He nodded, not knowing what to say. "Yeah."

"I don't get it. I just don't."

"Are you guys talking? Do you see her?"

"Yeah, I talk to her a few times a week, and I see her every Sunday, like clockwork."

"Clockwork," he repeated and shook his head. "Grace, are you _talking _to her?"

"Yes! I'm talking to her." She was already getting defensive.

"And listening?"

"Dude, are you trying to turn this around on _me_?"

His answer was determined and fast. "Hell no! I'm just wondering if she's, like, lonely or something?"

"Thanks for the insight, Rove. I'll remember to come back the next time I need family counseling." Grace threw down the towel and headed for the living room.

"Grace!" Adam turned to her. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do. But you know, she's still here. Your mom's... _still here_."

Grace's eyes filled with tears. "I get it. OK?"

He nodded slowly. "OK... Why don't you go get Karen and go on home. It's been a long, hard day." He headed that way and nodded for her to follow.

She did. They found Joan and Karen dozing, side by side on the sofa with Caesar at their feet, as the TV blared on. Grace ran her hand over Karen's soft, dark hair. "Let's go, sweetie," she damn-near cooed.

One of Joan's eyes popped open. "Sweetie?"

"Girardi, you're speaking..."

Joan opened her eyes fully as Grace helped Karen get to her feet. Caesar rose and stretched too. They were all absolutely exhausted, about to drop. Except maybe for Adam. He seemed quite alert.

He and Joan saw their friends off and went back inside.

"Hell of a day, huh?" he said as he closed and locked the door behind them.

"Did you find out what's up with Grace?"

"Yeah, uh... her mom fell off the wagon."

"Oh," Joan said quietly. "Anything we can do?"

"Nah, you probably shouldn't let her know I told you."

"OK," Joan said, resigning herself to the fact that as much as she wanted to, she couldn't help Grace unless Grace wanted her to. She sat down on the sofa. "I'm sure Karen knows, right?"

"Well, it's not the kind of thing you can keep from someone you're sleeping with, so probably."

"That's good. I mean, at least she's not alone with it."

"Yeah." He plopped down on the sofa beside her, just as she yawned so big you could see her tonsils. "Tired?" he asked, looking at her dreamily.

"Very. Aren't you?"

"I was. But suddenly I'm wide awake."

"Well, I'm gonna go take a shower because I can't stand myself anymore. After that, I just might collapse."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll just veg here for a little while," he said, picking up the TV remote. "Give me a shout when you're ready to go to bed and I'll come up."

"OK." She stood, stretched and kissed the top of his head before slowly making her way up the stairs.

Half an hour later, when she didn't get an answer shouting down to Adam, she went downstairs and found him snoring on the sofa.

She touched his hair and leaned down to kiss his face as he slowly opened his eyes and drew a deep breath. "Come on, baby. You're more tired than you think. Let's go to bed."

He sat up and she held a hand out to him which he took. She turned off the TV and the lights and he shuffled off behind her like a sleepy child.

Upstairs, they both fell into bed. "I'm sorry I'm so tired. I did have other plans for tonight," Adam said with a yawn.

"Oh, you did?"

"I did."

She leaned over and kissed him. "Save 'em for morning."

He smiled. "OK."

She turned out the bedside lamp and they settled in together. Within just a couple of minutes, he was snoring again. His soft, gentle Adam snore, with the occasional whistley wheeze at the end. It lulled her into blissful slumber.

Saturday number two in the Reclamation was getting off to a good start. The weather was cooperating, though the sun had yet to make an appearance. Painting had been underway for a few hours when Adam decided to take a break for a minute. He grabbed a bottled water and took a walk around the house to check the progress that they were making. It was almost one in the afternoon and he knew that Joan and Karen were in the kitchen preparing sandwiches and snacks. Around the side of the house, where he'd set up the teenagers Brody brought, he found that Gustavo had painted his half perfectly. But the other half was nowhere near what he expected.

"Whoa," Adam exclaimed. "That's..."

The other kid, Jamal, froze in his spot, brush just raised to the wall. "Mr. Rove, um, I'm sorry. I'm gonna paint over it. I guess I got kinda carried away."

Adam lifted his arms slightly. "No, uh..." He pointed at the beginnings of something that might have become a mural, all in shades of the light and darker blue colors of paint that Adam and Joan had picked. "It's actually really cool."

"No way!" Jamal coughed nervously, "You like it?"

"Yeah," Adam smiled. "Just not on the side of my house. I'll tell you what, you know that shed in the back?"

Jamal nodded.

"I think something like that would actually look pretty funky on the side wall."

"Really?" The kid's eyes lit up.

Adam nodded. "Come on, let's go pick a spot."

"Okay." Jamal put the brush down and wiped his hands on the thighs of his already paint-stained jeans.

Adam led him to the shed and pointed out the wall facing the garden, describing what he could imagine Jamal doing with it. Jamal listened in awe. It was the first time anyone outside teachers, his mom and his little brother ever showed an honest interest in his artwork. When Adam talked about incorporating the window frame, Jamal went closer to the window, peeking inside. He could make out some of Adam's canvasses and sculptures.

He turned around and asked, "You some kind of artist?"

Adam hesitated. "Some kind, yeah."

"You do this for a living?"

"Well, I work at a design studio. I guess you could call that my private studio in there."

"That's cool. You, like, design stuff?"

Adam had to laugh a little, imitating Jamal's words, which reminded him very much of himself at sixteen. "Yeah, I, like, design stuff."

Jamal wasn't sure whether to be amused or offended.

Adam gave him an honest smile. "Hey, I didn't mean to make fun of you. I just kind of had a flashback. I'm a graphic artist at Liquid Designs."

"Yeah?"

Adam nodded.

"What kinda shit you make?"

"Anything. I work in three dimensions. I can design anything on the computer and then build it in real life."

"Anything?"

"Pretty much."

"Man, that's awesome. When I was inside, they had, like, this graphic art course. It was really cool, I was totally into it. I started thinking about doing stuff for the movies, you know? CGI or hard FX. Don't matter."

"Cool," Adam nodded, clearly fascinated.

"Then the teacher dude quit and they never found nobody else to take it over. Guess it's not easy to find somebody who can take working in lock-up. Man, I'd totally love to do something with my art for real when I'm, like... your age."

Adam had to grin. How could he feel so old at twenty-two? "Where were you inside?" he asked, merely curious.

"Hogan Juvy."

"What for?"

"Me? Manslaughter, man."

Adam was agape, but Jamal broke into a light chuckle. "Chill, I'm kidding. Burglary. I was running with these dudes who were big into raiding rich folks' houses. One night things went sour and the cops busted our asses. Earned me six months."

"How long have you been out?" Adam asked.

"Day twenty-seven of thirty of my court-ordered community service. That's where I met Brody. He kinda screwed my head back on straight. Been a good boy, trying to stay on the outside."

Adam looked over to where Brody was joking around with Grace, putting a speck of blue paint on the tip of her nose. She picked up the entire bucket and went after him. "Him? Really?"

"Yeah, man. He's all right."

Adam shook his head, thinking that he really didn't know much about Brody when you got right down to it. But he was a good guy. His gaze went back to the shed wall. "If we finish the house tonight, how about you come back tomorrow? The wall is yours. And whatever paint you need."

"You pulling my leg, dog?"

"Nah. Apparently, I don't do that," he said dryly.

Jamal looked at him curiously, but happily. "Better get back on the house then."

"Cool." He let Jamal go back to painting the house while he went into the kitchen, hoping Joan would be down with the idea of giving a reformed juvenile delinquent graffiti artist total freedom to do a mural in their new backyard.

Just as he had expected, he found Karen and Joan preparing the food at the counter, engaged in conversation. He could hear them laughing as he opened door. "My two favorite ladies," he greeted them.

"My only favorite gentleman," Karen laughed back.

"Hey," Joan slapped her upper arm, "he's mine!"

Karen laughed again. "Joan, you've got an awesome man, but I'm in love with his best friend."

Adam smiled and Joan laughed a little. "You hungry?" she asked him.

He looked at the tray with the huge, loaded subs Karen and Joan had made and cut into one-handers. She had three kinds of chips and three kinds of dip, pickle spears and peppers, potato salad, pasta salad, and fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. His mouth watered. "I wasn't until now." He went over and dipped a tortilla chip in the salsa, shoving the whole thing into his mouth.

As he finished chewing, he laid out the idea of Jamal's mural to Joan. At first she didn't seem overly enthusiastic, but as Adam described what it might look like, she began to visualize it, and she couldn't wait to see what the kid might come up with.

Adam had already made up his mind anyway. And it was _his_ shed, his inner sanctum. His church, in a way. Why pretend she had any say in the matter? "It's your realm, sweetie. I trust your judgment."

"Well, the garden is your realm and it's gonna be part of that, so you have to be OK with it too."

She looked out the window at her favorite garden box by the shed as if she hadn't realized that before. "Well... yeah, but I'm sure it's gonna look great. Just go for it."

He moved in close to her and gave her a quick kiss. "Thank you."

Karen just smiled at the exchange. When Adam was gone again, having taken a handful of tortilla chips, she turned to Joan. "You two are so sweet together, it's disgusting."

"I know," Joan said wrinkling her nose, "are we really insufferable?"

"Only every once in a while."

"What can I say?" she sighed. "He had me at, 'Hey, Jane!'."

They broke into laughter again as they finished up with the food tray and took it out to the guys, who raided it like a pack of ravenous wolves.

When they finally stopped for a breath, Adam said to Brody, "So why didn't you tell me Jamal's an artist?"

Jamal glanced at Brody, who merely shrugged, "I don't know. I guess I didn't make the connection between tagging train cars and overpasses and your thing." He gestured at the sculptures.

"His 'thing'?" Jamal interjected. "Brody, man, you better show your boy some respect. He's a damn good painter too and I only saw a couple of things through the window."

Joan had to chime in then. "He sure is. Brody, you've never been in the shed, have you?"

Brody only shook his head because his mouth was full.

"Honey, why don't you show them?"

Adam looked skeptical, scrunching his face up a little.

"No, really, man, I'd like to see," Jamal said.

"Yeah, me too." Gustavo said. "Jamal hasn't shut up about it since you said he could paint the shed."

Joan smiled at Adam. "Unanimous."

Adam nodded and put down his sandwich. "OK," he said, licking a dab of mayo off his thumb. He got up and the guys followed him to the shed.

Inside, he took them through some of what he thought was his better work, several canvases that he liked well enough. The kids were intrigued most by his metal-craft. Brody admired a painting of Joan in a little sun dress, with windswept hair, against a deep azure sky that Adam had painted from memory after they got back from Virginia Beach.

By dark, the house was finished. As promised, Adam made plans to pick Jamal up from his mom's apartment the next day so that he could start on his mural. The kid was so excited he was already scribbling designs on his dinner napkin.

* * *

Jamal ushered Adam into the apartment he shared with his mom and his little brother, Malcolm. After introductions all around, he took Adam to his room and showed him some of his airbrush paintings. He also presented Adam with a small rendition of what he wanted to do with the shed wall. He was so anxious to please, and Adam was knocked out by his technical prowess and his vision.

Adam took the sketch that Jamal had done in his hands and studied it closely. It was only a rough pencil drawing, but looking back at the airbrush paintings on Jamal's desk, he could see the sketch turning into a colorful, funky mural.

"This stuff is amazing, Jamal."

"Seriously?" Jamal bit his lower lip, gauging Adam's expression carefully.

"Seriously."

"Mr. Rove, where am I gonna get enough paint for a wall?"

_Mr. Rove? _He looked at Jamal, feeling weird suddenly. "I can't take being called Mr. Rove. That was my dad. Just Adam, OK?"

Jamal nodded, smiling a little.

"We'll make a stop. Come on, lets go," Adam said, turning sideways toward the door.

They picked up all the supplies he could possibly need at the hobby shop. Jamal knew just what kind of paint to buy for the airbrush that was also weatherproof. Adam loaded all the stuff in the Forester, slammed the trunk and hopped back into the driver's seat. Jamal was already inside the car waiting, eager to get to the house and get started.

To make conversation and break the slightly uncomfortable silence, Adam asked Jamal, "When'd you start doing art?"

Jamal shrugged. "I dunno. Just something I've always done. My boy Mike and me started making our own comic books when we were, like, seven or something. He made up the stories and I drew everything. We always thought we'd make bank doin' that one day, you know?"

"You don't do it anymore?"

"Nah," he looked out the window, avoiding Adam's eyes.

"How come?"

Jamal just shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it, not with this guy who was just being nice and didn't want to hear about all this stuff.

Adam nodded and let it go. Maybe the kid had already had a big dose of reality. He knew what that was like. For a while in high school he just knew he was going to be a really famous sculptor one day. Didn't happen though, did it? He was still an artist. A working, professional artist. That was enough.

He wondered about the environment Jamal was growing up in, what kind of school he went to. Arcadia High was a good school and he had been lucky to go there since he lived just on the line in the district. So many good things had happened for him there. He remembered something Helen Girardi once said to him when he'd foolishly tried to quit. 'A good education will make you a deeper artist.' There was truth in that. He hoped that somehow Jamal was as lucky as he had been in that respect.

"You taking art in school?" he asked.

"Nah, the teacher's this dude, must be a hundred years old. Half the time he sleeps through class. When he does give assignments, it's just stupid watercolor still life crap. There's a guy in that class who does custom paint jobs on cars and a guy who can build stuff that'd make you cry. But it's not part of the lesson plan, so he won't let 'em do any of that. He thinks airbrushing is a joke. He kicked me outta the class last semester."

He didn't elaborate as to why, and Adam decided it was best not to pry. He was so grateful to have had an art teacher who always pushed him creatively and embraced her students' new ideas instead of stifling them.

"So now you're just doing your own thing?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, pretty much. The dude we had in lock-up could teach circles around that high school poser, but he couldn't hack it." He shrugged again, trying very hard to give the impression that he didn't care. "Man, what do I need art class for anyway? I'm still gonna do what I do."

"I hear ya. I didn't always have great teachers, but there was this one. She changed my life."

"Like how?"

"For starters, she gave birth to the woman I love," Adam stated.

"Whoa."

"Yeah. She also helped me get through a rough patch dealing with my mom's death. And she kept me from dropping art and taught me pretty much everything I know outside how to build stuff out of junk."

"I guess you went to college and everything, huh?"

"Yep. But I almost quit school when I was just about your age."

"No shit?"

Adam nodded.

"What happened?" Jamal asked.

"Why'd you get kicked out of art class?" Adam countered.

"You first."

"Well, OK, uh, I sold something and thought I was above school for about half a second there. I got brought back down to earth pretty quick though... You?"

Jamal gave it a moment's consideration before he spoke. "I guess I thought I was above that class."

"Sounds like you just needed a better teacher. The cool thing about art, and what some people don't get, is that it's as individual as every person doing it. So as long as you stay open, you can never run out of avenues to explore."

They pulled into the driveway then. As they got out and began to unload Jamal's paints, he said, "Yo, I bet you never got in any trouble."

_"_Not with the law. But I did some incredibly stupid things. Hurt people," he admitted honestly.

"Yeah? What does that mean?"

Jamal was looking at him so seriously, it made him feel very exposed. He really didn't want to go into his own failings. "I don't know," he shrugged. "Look, I'm not much for giving lectures. The point is we all screw up. Doesn't mean the end of the world. You can change. But nobody expects you to be perfect. Fact is, most people have no idea what they're doing half the time."

"You seem to."

Adam gave Jamal a lopsided smile. "Maybe I'm just a good pretender."

"Heh," Jamal shrugged and they went around back to carry all the supplies there for Jamal to get started.

Adam found Joan in the kitchen, ripping a Swiffer pad off her Wet Jet and tossing it in the trash. She glared at him just as he was about to step inside. "Don't you dare come in here with those filthy boots. I just mopped the floor."

He froze and raised his arms in defense, smiling at her. "Stopping right here." He bent and untied his boots, kicking them off on the patio before tiptoeing in his socks into her immaculate kitchen.

"Anything you need?" she grinned at him. "You got Jamal all set up?"

He nodded. "Yeah, he's got everything he needs, I hope. I'll check on him later, but I wanna give him some space, let him do his own thing. Sounds like he never gets that chance unless he's breaking the law."

Joan frowned a little at that image. "You're absolutely sure it's a good idea to let him loose in our yard with an airbrush, totally unsupervised?"

"What do you think is gonna happen?"

"Who knows what he'll end up painting out there?"

"Jane, come on. You should have seen him. He was so excited that someone's willing to let him roam free with his creative ideas." She still seemed a little skeptical. Adam approached her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "It'll be fine. He showed me some of his airbrush work. He even came up with a little sketch for the mural. It was cool, you'll like it. He's a really talented kid."

She finally gave him a smile. "Okay, I bow to your expertise in this case."

"Wise choice," he said leaning in for a kiss.

"OK," she said when they broke it. "I wanna finish up with the chores, then I'll start on lunch."

"Want me to help?"

"No, I've got it."

"Well, then I'll go install that new camera Henry gave me. It'll be cool to have a really good quality webcam. We can chat with Aunt Lou, you can chat with Luke and I can chat with Kate. Jamie uses his to talk to his best buddy up in Canada. There's this software called HyperChat that he said I should try. It's got live chat capabilities and also has a file exchange feature and—"

Joan lifted her hands. "Okay, nerd, you're way out of my league there with the technobabble. Go upstairs and fiddle with your computer already."

He laughed at her and went. Joan knew her way round the computer well enough, but she just wasn't a gadget person.

While the computer booted up, he took the camera out of the wrapping and went through the manual. It sounded easy enough, they advertised plug & play, so Adam crouched down on the floor to look for a vacant socket that he could use to plug the cable in that would lead to the wireless transmitter for the camera.

About an hour and much silent but colorful swearing later, Adam was ready to throw the camera out the window. _Plug & play my ass!_ he thought. Nothing had worked the way it was supposed to, and now the whole operating system was all messed up. When he went through the cardboard box where he kept his burned discs to find an old image that he could restore, the box slipped from his hands and cluttered to the floor, the discs spilling out.

"Oh, bloody fucking hell! Goddammit!" He wanted to bash the machine to bits, instead kicked the nearest object which was the footstool he kept next to the computer chair. Pain shot through his sock-clad big toe all the way up to his knee before it terminated. He tensed and drew a violently sharp breath, almost falling to the floor with the shock. It was all he could do to hobble over to the computer chair and sink into it as Joan peeked her head in the door.

"Everything all right up here?"

He glared at her. "No," he snapped. "Does it sound like everything's all right? I can't install the bloody camera and now the whole piece of crap computer is all fucked up."

"Honey, I'm sorry. Anything I can do?"

"Yeah. Get me an ice bag for my toe." His voice was still full of piss and vinegar.

"Your toe?"

"Yes. It... kinda collided with the footstool."

Joan had to suppress a smile. "Well, I could have told you beforehand that kicking inanimate objects when you're mad doesn't really help."

"You're funny," he said with a sarcastic smirk. "Ice bag? Please?"

When she returned with a Ziplock bag full of cubes from the ice-maker, she found Adam awkwardly leaning over the desk by the window. Trying not to put weight on his right foot, he strained to get a look at what Jamal was doing with the mural.

"Hey, I thought you were gonna let him be till he's done."

Adam knocked the pencil holder off the desk he was so startled, and he blushed. "I—I was. I mean uh, I am."

She approached him, picked up the pencils and restored the cup to its place on the desk. Then she pulled the battered footstool over to the computer chair. "Sit down and put your foot up."

He did so. She wrapped the ice bag in a hand towel and laid it gently across his foot. He smiled at her and then tried to turn the stool and chair around to where he could still reach the keyboard.

"Baby, why don't you let that thing be too? For now. Take a break."

"No, let me just start restoring this. It'll run for a while anyway." He turned back to the machine, opening the disc drive.

"OK," she conceded, running her hand over his hair and leaving him to it.

* * *

Joan served lunch at the dining table so there'd be room for Adam to prop up his foot. It wasn't too badly bruised but it did hurt. They had a pleasant meal, during which Jamal watched Joan very closely. Finally, it got a tiny bit uncomfortable.

"Do I have food in my teeth or something?" Joan asked.

He was embarrassed to have been caught staring. "No. No, sorry. I was staring. I'm sorry... It's just, you know, Adam's painted you a bunch of times. I can see why."

Adam looked confused.

Jamal threw his hands out, "No, dog, I don't mean nothing by that. I was just thinking about something for the mural." He looked from one to the other of them. "Which... I should really go get back to." He stood and wiped his mouth and hands on his napkin. "Thanks for lunch, Mrs..."

"Not Mrs yet, Jamal. Joan's fine."

He nodded, "Thanks." And out back door he went.

Joan and Adam exchanged looks. "What was that all about?" she asked.

Adam shrugged. "I don't know."

She narrowed her eyes at him, her voice almost threatening. "What paintings did you show him?"

"Um... well, that one with the tree in the field, and I think, um, the portrait of you with the hat, and the one on Virginia Beach that I was gonna give to your parents." Then it dawned on Adam. "Wait. You're... you're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

"If you're thinking 'nude', then, yes, I'm thinking exactly that."

"No way, Jane. I'd never show that to anyone."

"Well, maybe it was lying around or something."

"No," he said with conviction, "I put it away. You told me you didn't want anyone to see it, so no one will."

She actually sighed in relief.

He suddenly smirked mischievously at her, looking at her intensely. "You know what? I've actually been thinking about that painting a lot lately."

"Oh yeah?" she said smiling at him.

"Yeah. I'd really like to turn it into a series. This time with the real live model posing for me."

"You're not serious."

"As a heart attack."

"And this would require me lying or standing still for how long?" she asked, a little skeptical.

"Oh, I don't know. Half an hour? An hour? I've never done it with someone actually posing."

She laughed. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. The thought of you staring at another naked woman for an hour makes me insanely jealous."

"I promise that I'll only ever stare at _you_ naked, for the rest of my life," he said.

"I like the sound of that." She rose and started clearing away the dishes, carrying them to the kitchen. Adam followed gingerly, his toe still hurting.

As she put the dishes next to the sink and he put the condiments back in the refrigerator, he came back to the conversation. "You didn't answer my question, though. Would you pose for me? For a nude?"

She gave him a long look. So he really was dead serious about this, was he? She didn't know where the sudden hesitation was coming from. After all, he had seen her naked countless times, and never once had he given her a reason to be ashamed about it. Quite the opposite, whenever he looked at her, it seemed as if he was drinking her in—reverently, intensely, lovingly. "I'll think about it, OK?" she finally said.

He seemed a little disappointed but he let the subject go for the time being with a nod and an, "OK."

* * *

"So, are you making any headway?" Adam asked Jamal as they sat down for dinner.

Joan had whipped up a risotto with garlic and rosemary chicken breast, something that her father had introduced her family to when she and her brothers were still kids. It was one of her favorite comfort meals. She loved it so much she got her dad to teach her how to make it herself well before she moved out.

Jamal obviously liked it because he put away a second helping in no time. To answer Adam's question, he said, "I just got little bits to finish up. Shouldn't take much longer. Maybe, like, half an hour."

Adam nodded in acknowledgment. "Okay, sounds great."

"Mr. Rove... Adam," Jamal corrected himself, "you wanna take a look?"

"Not till it's finished."

Jamal looked halfway between stunned and awed. These people just let him do his thing on their shed wall, not once coming to check on him. They trusted him completely. He couldn't believe it. "That's cool," he said, trying not to let his admiration show. "So I guess I'm gonna go back out and finish that thing."

Joan looked at him encouragingly. "Yeah, go ahead. Let us know when you're done."

They watched Jamal go back outside and Joan's gaze went back to his empty plate. "He was either really hungry or he really liked my risotto."

"Or both," Adam added.

"Yeah."

They went into the kitchen to take care of the dishes. Joan smiled to herself when she caught Adam looking out the window a couple of times. He was dying to see what the kid was doing out there. She was a little curious herself. Jamal seemed very adept with the airbrush. It all looked quite professional from where she was watching through the window. She just hoped he hadn't gone overboard.

As if on cue, just as Adam dried the last knife, Jamal knocked on the back door and Joan opened it for him. He stood there, a lopsided smirk on his face. "OK, y'all, I think I'm done. Wanna check it out?"

They didn't have to be asked twice. Taking Joan by the hand, Adam walked out into the back yard where the sun was low in the sky, just beginning to touch the horizon. It gave the whole scene an eerie orangey glow as Joan and Adam stood in front of the mural, taking it in for the first time.

It was... colorful. Vibrant. But also really cool. Jamal had made it almost like a jungle. It was loosely based on their new back garden, but there were big snake-like tentacled plants weaving their way through the scene. Others looked like huge carnivorous plants. There were smaller flowers with red and yellow and purple petals, lightening up the dangerous tone. A giant dragonfly with dark compound eyes and light blue wings was buzzing through the picture, and there were glistening artificial structures interwoven that looked like Adam's sculptures come to life.

Except for a splash of bronze and silver here and there, Jamal stuck to colors you would find in a garden, deep greens and reds and yellows and blues. But the most amazing thing—so subtle that you really had to look closely to see them—was the silhouette of Adam and Joan, standing in the background, holding hands. Adam pointed it out as soon as he saw them. "Wow, this is so cool. Jane, do you see that?"

She looked at where Adam was pointing. "What? I don't... oh my God. That's us, isn't it?"

She looked at Jamal, who couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah... Is it too much? I can totally—"

Adam interrupted him. "No. I love it. Don't you?" He looked at Joan.

She nodded fervently. "Yeah, it's great. It looks... Thank you, Jamal. Our garden's really special now. Nobody else has a garden like this."

"So you're cool with it?" he asked.

Adam and Joan both nodded and Adam said, "Absolutely. It's great work. I especially love how you used all those shadows to give it more depth." He pointed at a few places. "And the contour work is very good. You've really got something going here."

Jamal didn't know what to say. He wasn't accustomed to being given the freedom to create something and then having it so deeply appreciated. He looked down at his sneakers and mumbled, "Thanks."

And Joan saw it, too. He was Adam at sixteen.

"Why don't you go on in the house and get cleaned up. I'll meet you in the living room in a few minutes," Adam told him.

He nodded and did so.

"Wow," Adam sighed, looking at the mural again. He put his hands on his hips and stood there, thinking.

"What?" Joan asked.

"I think we should pay him something for this. I mean, it's great work, right?"

"Yeah, OK. That's fair."

"Man, I hate that this kid doesn't have a teacher like your mom. I can't stand to think of all this talent going to waste."

"I know. But what can you do?"

Adam shrugged and stared at the mural, shaking his head. "I wish I knew."

He turned without another word and walked into the house with Joan following him. Jamal was standing by the mantle, looking at the family portraits Joan had framed and placed there.

"Jamal, do you have a way to cash a personal check?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, I've got my own account for my part-time job."

"Jane, could you grab my checkbook out of my portfolio?"

"Sure," she said and went upstairs to get it from the computer table.

"Oh, no, Adam, you don't have to pay me anything, man," Jamal said, looking embarrassed.

"You earned it. I commissioned you to paint a mural and you did a great job. We love it."

Joan returned with the checkbook and Adam wrote out a check for 100 and handed it to Jamal.

"Thanks, man. This is..." He really didn't know what to say. No one had ever been so nice to him before, not about his art anyway. And certainly nobody had ever paid him to paint a wall before. Busted him, yeah. He looked at the check in his hand.

"I want you to take all the paint that's left with you too. It's yours."

Jamal extended his hand to Adam. "Wow, y'all don't know what this means to me. Thanks."

"Thank_ you,_" Joan said as he shook her hand too. "We get to look at your beautiful mural everyday."

"It's getting late. Come on, I'll take you home," Adam said to Jamal, looking around for his keys. He gave Joan a quick peck on the cheek when he found them and they left. She went into the kitchen and looked out the window again at the garden that was bathed in the day's last golden light. Even though she couldn't really see the mural from her vantage point, she still admired their little garden with the new patio and the neatly manicured grass, the flower beds and Adam's sculptures in between. She was very excited for everyone she loved to see it.

Her mind was already working on who to invite to the housewarming party. She made a mental note to have Adam design an invitation that would be personal. But she also thought they should go old-fashioned with classy cards sent by snail mail. A smile on her lips, she couldn't wait for Adam to get back. She was utterly giddy. Things were finally falling into place. She hoped that wouldn't change any time soon.

* * *


	21. Bless This House

_**Chapter 18**_  
**Bless This House**

_by Sisterdebmac & TeeJay_

* * *

_**MERRY CHRISTMAS & HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OUR FRIENDS IN THE JOANIVERSE!!**_

_**Author's Note:**  
If you move in with your fiancé and renovate the homestead together, you deserve a great housewarming party. With presents. And surprises. If you've suffered a bus load of angst lately, as Adam and Joan have, you deserve it even more._

_:begin tease: Especially with the darkness and weird twists they have ahead of them. :end tease: _

_TeeJay wrote many scenes for this one. She saved my bacon once again._

_I'm not sure why we haven't done this before, but we'd like to thank all the readers of Butterflies and especially those who have reviewed it. Your comments make us want to keep pushing on even when it's hard. _

_**Synopsis:**  
Friends, family and a very special guest gather to check out Adam and Joan's newly renovated home._

_**Rated PG-13 **for language and romance.  
**  
Genre:**  
A little drama, a little fluff.  
**  
Disclaimer:**  
They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah. _

* * *

A glint of sunlight flashed into the living room window and caught Adam's eye as he vacuumed the carpet. He turned off the machine and went to peek out. What he saw startled him. "Jane!" he called, going to the door, concerned as to why a pick-up truck with the lights and markings of the Hogan County Sheriff's Department would be in their driveway.

Joan emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. "What's up?"

She joined him at the door and her heart missed a beat, seeing the Sheriff's truck. They exchanged a look but neither of them could say anything. They both feared that her father's department has sent someone to tell Joan that something bad had happened to him.

But then, Will stepped out of the driver's side and Helen climbed down from the passenger side. Relief washed over Joan as she went out to help her mother with some snack trays she had made for the party. "You're early," she smiled. "And what's with the truck, Dad?"

Adam slipped his shoes on and went out to help with the heavy lifting too.

"Leave all that stuff for a second. Come back here. I have something I want to show Adam." He led them all to the back of the camper-topped truck. He unlocked and lifted the hatch and lowered the gate to reveal a brand new, top-of-the-line Snapper push mower. He watched Adam's jaw go slack. "Happy housewarming."

Adam was drawn to the powerful-looking machine. He couldn't resist reaching out to touch the grips. "Wow," he whispered.

Seeing how awed he was, Joan went to her father and gave him a huge hug. "Thank you, Daddy."

"Come on honey," Helen said, "Let the boys play with their new toy. We need to get the food into the refrigerator."

It was three in the afternoon and they were preparing for about twenty guests to begin arriving at 7:30. All the Girardis would be there and Kevin would bring Lily. They also expected Grace and Karen, Joan's friends from work, Adam's boss and another co-worker or two, Brody, Aunt Louisa, Jamie and his wife and kids.

Will and Helen volunteered to come and help set everything up. But their gift was a complete shock to both Joan and Adam.

In the kitchen, Joan said, "Mom, I can't believe you guys bought us that awesome lawn mower. And I can't believe I just said awesome and lawn mower in the same sentence. I'm getting really domesticated." She laughed and her mother did too. "But seriously, that must have cost a fortune."

"Your father wanted to give you something practical and reliable. The last Sunday you guys were over was that day Adam wrestled with his old lawn mower all day. I think your dad made up his mind that night... He says it'll last forever if you take care of it."

"We will."

As they went about working on the dishes they were making for the evening, they heard the men crank up the new mower, just to hear the engine roar. Adam had already cut the grass, the day before. With his old mower, it had taken him three times as long as it should've. Not going to be a problem anymore.

--...----...----...--

Will went over the finer points of owning a Snapper and made sure Adam knew he should read the manual before he really used it. And then Adam parked it inside the shed.

"Mr. G, I can't tell you how grateful I am for this. I really want this place to be nice, for Joan. I want her to be proud of it, such as it is."

"This is a fine starter home for you guys. You've both done a great job with everything."

"Thanks."

"What do you say we start stocking the coolers so the beverages can get cold?"

"Sure."

Adam had the back of his camper and the Forester filled with beer, wine coolers, alcopops, sodas, juice, bottled water, energy drinks, everything he could think of that people might want. Will brought over every cooler he could find around the Girardi place and a couple from work. Adam gathered his coolers and the one Joan had. They drove the truck to the nearest convenience store and bought two dozen bags of ice. Back at the house, they filled all the coolers and placed them strategically around the back yard and in the kitchen and on the front porch.

Then Will pulled one last cooler out of the back of the pick-up and brought it to the back yard, and to the patio—the little concrete island that Adam had researched, measured out, poured and finished himself.

His last purchase for the house before he maxed out his brand new Lowe's credit card was a very nice gas grill. It wasn't huge, but it would cook enough to feed the crowd they were having in tonight—if someone manned it pretty much constantly.

Will opened up the cooler and showed Adam the meats he had brought to grill—hot dogs and brats, burgers and marinated chicken breasts, beautiful jumbo prawns on skewers.

"This is amazing. You went to so much trouble," Adam said.

"Hey, I love cooking. And I really wanna try out this new grill of yours."

They walked over to look at it. "Yeah, I think I may have gone a little overboard with this thing. I'm not sure we'll get to use it much. We were just kind of excited about tonight and having a real home and it was on model-year clearance."

"You'll use it. Even if you just cook for two. It's gas so it's easy, right?" Adam still looked a little queasy about his purchase. Will put an arm around his shoulder and told him, "A man needs a grill, son."

Adam smiled and nodded, "I guess so."

* * *

A little past five, Grace and Karen showed up. They had a crate of really good champagne that Joan had asked them to bring, without revealing the reason. They also had Caesar in tow. As the girls entered and took the crate to the kitchen, Caesar stopped at the front door and instead bounded around the house into the back yard as if he already knew where Adam was. When he found him, he jumped up on him.

"Hey, buddy!" he said, greeting the dog enthusiastically.

Caesar's tail wagged so hard he could barely balance himself. He walked happy circles around this human with the wonderful hands, great for scratching ears and backs. And he was enjoying some of that attention right then.

"Grace's dog," Adam told Will. "Caesar."

"Good looking animal," Will smiled and held his upturned palm out when Caesar finally noticed him and came over to sniff him.

Clearly approving of this new human, Caesar nudged Will's hand for a pat, and was rewarded with a long one on his fine-boned head. Caesar gave him a thank you lick on his hand and went back to Adam's side. And there he sat, calmly and possessively.

Will sat in one of the chairs they had just put out for the party. "You know they say dogs are great judges of character," he said, watching Caesar lie down beside Adam, completely content at his side.

Adam looked down at the dog and shrugged. "I'm sure there's a lot going on in the kitchen. He probably just likes the peace out here."

"You wanna sit down for a second?" Will asked.

Adam nodded and pulled a chair closer to Caesar so he wouldn't get up and follow.

"Cops are supposed to be pretty good judges of character too. But I misjudged you when we first met, and maybe for a while after that. When Joan told us about your... almost elopement, I was quick to judge then too. But when she told me she actually thought I didn't like you or that I had something against you, I realized maybe I never let go of that first impression. And that was really unfair to you."

"Well, I gave you good reason to doubt my character, didn't I?"

Will held a hand up to stop him. "You did your time on that one. And I think you know what we do to repeat offenders."

Adam nodded firmly. "Yes, sir."

"I raised a very strong-minded daughter. She can take care of herself," Will said. And then he became stern, and more than a little Italian. "But never forget that she has an equally strong-minded father and two brothers."

"No, sir," Adam replied, a little shakily.

"I don't think we need to say anymore about that."

He sat back in his chair, relieved to have apparently passed whatever test he just underwent.

"The only real reservation I have in all this is that you're still so young... But I guess kids grow up faster these days. And when she told us you were getting married, it was blatantly obvious how much she loves you. And I will give you this, both of you—no matter what life threw at you, you stayed connected. Now look at you." Will gestured around them at the new green of the lawn, the new paint on the house, the new splashes of color of the flowers amidst the very familiar old sculptures and that magical, little ramshackle shed. "You went all that way, through all of that, and here you are together. And look what you've made."

Will Girardi's words hit Adam square in the heart. He felt tears stinging at the back of his eyes but he forced them down.

"I'm proud of both of you."

No. He would not cry in front of this man he respected so much, that he had wanted so badly to win over.

"I think your dad would be too."

"Thanks," he said quietly and he cleared his throat. "I promise you, I'll do everything I can to make her happy."

"I know you will."

Adam stood and Caesar stood with him. "Um, I could use a beer. You want a beer?"

"Sure," Will smiled at him. "We should get started with the grilling soon. What fun is that without beer?"

"Be right back," he said, disappearing into the house with Caesar following along behind him.

He pulled himself together as he entered the kitchen through the back door and saw three of his four favorite women in the world. He gave Grace a nod and a "hey", and then hugged Karen as usual. He really liked that she was a hugger. She softened Grace like no one else ever could.

He then went to his love and gave her a juicy peck on the lips as he excused himself. Inside the living room, he leaned back against the kitchen door for a second to catch his breath. "Wow," he whispered to himself. Papa Girardi had thrown him for a loop. A good one. But still, quite a loop.

Just then, Helen emerged from the downstairs half-bath.

"Hey, you," she said, smiling at him. When she realized he was slack against the door, she stopped. "You OK? You look like you saw a ghost."

Adam stood quickly. "Oh, uh, no, I'm fine. It's... uh, a little warm outside. I'm getting a drink for Mr. G and me, but I need to go first."

"He's not being too rough on you out there, is he?"

"No, no, absolutely not. He's, uh... he just said some really nice things in fact. Except he can be a little... well, he kinda went all Fat Tony on me there for a second."

"Ohhh, yeah. Well, that's to be expected under the circumstances. His little girl's all grown up now and has a man of her own. She doesn't need him anymore."

"She'll always need him."

"Somewhere, deep down, he knows that. And he'll be OK."

"Are you?"

"Am I...?"

"OK with everything?"

"Honey, I'm planning your wedding. How much more OK do you need me to be?"

Adam smiled, and looked away from her briefly, feeling silly for asking the question. "You know, I didn't realize how much I missed having you in my life until now."

She went to him and pulled him into brief hug. "Me too."

"We always... felt like family," he said letting go of her.

"Now we will be. So maybe it's time you drop the Mr. and Mrs. G. He's Will, I'm Helen. OK?"

"OK."

* * *

Helen answered the first knock at the door only to find a whole family standing there. She recognized everyone except the children. Adam's Aunt Louisa stepped forward and extended her hand to Helen. "So good to see you again, and in joyful circumstances," she smiled.

Helen shook her hand. And then Jamie's. "I'm so glad ya'll could come."

"Mrs. Girardi, this is my wife, Susan," Jamie told her.

"Oh, Helen, please," she insisted as she shook Susan's hand too. "Nice to meet you." She knelt in front of the boys. "And who do we have here?"

The oldest, a boy of seven stuck his hand out for a shake too, "I'm Hunter. This is my brother Zach," he declared, pointing to the boy next to him, who was five. Then he leaned over and pointed to the toddler of the group, standing on the other side of Zach. "That's my brother Jonah over there, chewing on his hand."

Helen melted watching them. The little one couldn't be more than three. Such adorable boys, all in a descending row. "So very nice to meet such handsome young men."

Jamie smiled down, touching his middle son's hair.

"You guys like dogs?" Helen asked.

They all nodded enthusiastically and Hunter said, "We have two."

"There's a very cool dog out in the back yard if you wanna go and see him."

Hunter looked up at his father, who smiled down and said, "Go."

Helen took the little tot by the hand and showed them all in, taking the boys to kitchen and out the back door. "Adam," she called to him standing with Will at the grill. "Your family is here."

"Oh," he looked up and saw his cousin's children. "Hey, guys!"

Caesar went right up to the boys, his friendly tail wagging.

"Cool dog!" Zach said wrapping himself half way around Caesar in hug. Everyone giggled at the boy's instant affection.

Adam smiled and went inside to greet the others. He found them standing in the living room. Louisa was admiring the framed photos on the mantle.

"Hey, kiddo," Jamie said, taking Adam into a bear hug.

"Hey, man. Glad you made it," he smiled. Then he turned to Jamie's wife, "Hey Su."

She kissed his cheek.

Finally, he turned to his Aunt Louisa. The looked into each other's eyes for several seconds before she took him in her arms and held him lovingly.

"It so good to see you," he whispered as she released him.

"You look wonderful," she beamed. "And the house..."

"Come on," he grinned as if he'd only just remembered his manners. "Everyone else is outside. I'll give you the grand tour later." He took Louisa's hand and led them through the kitchen out to the patio.

He introduced them to Grace and Karen and re-introduced them to Joan and Will. The kids played ball with Caesar in the yard while the adults caught up and talked about all the work that had been done to the house and the yards. Joan gave Louisa, Jamie and Susan the first of what would be many tours of the renovated house. Adam proudly showed Jamie his brand new Snapper.

Within an hour, they had a full house. Kevin and Lily showed up next. Then Luke, Brody and his new girlfriend Heather, Joan's friend Lydia, Adam's colleague Christine and his boss Henry filed in. The party was in full swing before long.

* * *

Could it really be? He was standing in front of the mural, admiring it with a very slight smile. Joan stepped off the patio and walked across the yard. He was still young, still handsome. Dressed very much the same as she remembered from high school, brown spiky hair and that beige corduroy jacket that had become somewhat of a trademark.

"I love the mural, Joan," He said as she approached.

She stopped, standing three feet across from Him. "You should tell the artist."

"Who says I haven't?"

Joan was agape for a second. "You don't talk to him too, do you?"

He smiled his best omniscient smile at her. "You don't have to talk to communicate."

She wasn't quite sure what to make of that. She put one hand on her hip. "So God crashes housewarming parties?"

"Does the Creator of the Universe really need an invitation?" CuteBoy-God mused.

"I guess not."

"This is a terrific party. And the house looks great," He told her earnestly.

"Thanks..." Joan eyed Him suspiciously. "Wait. What's the catch?"

"Joan," He laughed, "there's no catch. Why would there be a catch?"

"I don't get it." He was being as confusing and cryptic as ever.

His face took on a slightly impatient impression, as if what He was saying should be perfectly clear to anyone. "There's nothing to get. Sometimes, you _can_ take what I say literally."

"So you came to the party to tell me...?"

"That you're doing beautifully. Keep doing it and stay open to the new life that's unfolding around you."

"But I'm not _doing _anything. I mean, not for anyone else. I'm concentrating on my life for once. And You haven't really been around."

"I'm always around, Joan."

"But You haven't given me anything to _do_ lately."

His eyes were on the mural again, studying the faint silhouettes of Adam and Joan there in the background. "I didn't need to. You're already doing exactly what you were meant to do. And it's going to mean great things for a lot of people."

"What?" she asked as He started to back away from her. "Marrying Adam?"

He only smiled.

"Adam..." she whispered, "I told him about You."

"I know," God said.

"That's OK?"

"Of course."

"Can I introduce You to him?"

"Some other time. Tonight, just enjoy your party. You earned it." He turned and headed toward the side gate, waving back at Joan over His shoulder.

She could not believe He was going to walk away and leave it at that. Wait, yes, she could.

CuteBoy-God passed Adam as He went to the gate.

Adam's face scrunched up in a brief frown. "Hey, do I know you?" he asked. "You look familiar."

God turned to Adam. "We were in school together. I just came to congratulate Joan. And you."

"Oh," Adam smiled. "Thanks for coming."

Joan watched from across the yard as Adam held his hand out and God shook it. Maybe the Creator Of The Universe didn't need an introduction either.

"Sure," God smiled. "Great mural."

"Yeah," Adam returned his smile.

"See you around," God said as He opened the gate and walked down the driveway into the dark street.

* * *

They hadn't seen each other for years, and yet it seemed like they were getting along just peachy. Like they had never been separated. Karen looked over to where Grace was standing, talking to Luke. She watched how they both laughed at a joke or funny remark, reliving old times, no doubt. And she was jealous. How could she not be? Grace wasn't like her. Grace told her when they first met that love, for her, wasn't about gender, but about the person. That made Karen uneasy. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was always going to be just a little afraid that Grace might one day go back to boystown. She couldn't vanquish the thought, even though she was a hundred percent certain that Grace loved her and was completely faithful.

She was standing at the edge of the patio, enjoying the mild night air as she nursed a glass of white wine. Between covert glances at the old lovers, Karen gazed at one of the garden boxes that Adam had built and she and Joan had planted. She felt a bit guilty about having a drink because it seemed that Grace had initiated a self-imposed moratorium on alcoholic beverages lately. She looked up at them again in time to see the laughter subside as both of their faces grew serious. What were they talking about now? She saw Luke put a hand on Grace's shoulder, as if he was comforting her. That should be her over there, comforting her girlfriend. Not _him_.

She suddenly heard Adam's voice from behind her, close to her ear. "You know, there's really no need to be jealous."

Was he reading her mind? She gave him a small smile. "I know."

"But you are." It wasn't a question.

Yes, he was reading her mind, all right. She sighed. "Stupid, I know." She looked at him, not sure if she should broach the subject that was nagging at her, weighing on her mind. It had weighed on her mind for a while now. She needed to talk to someone. If not him, who could she talk to about this? "Adam?" she carefully began. She found his eyes attentive on her, and she could see how Joan had fallen in love with him. "You know about Grace's mom, right?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"You know that she's drinking again?"

"Yeah," He said, lowering his voice a notch. "She told me after dinner when you guys were over to help with the yards."

"Why is it that she talks to everyone but me about it?" Karen asked.

"You know that's not true. She doesn't talk to anyone but you, and maybe me."

"And Luke?" she said nodding toward her girlfriend, still standing with her ex.

"If she said anything to him, it's just because he was there when things got really bad and they had to force her mom into rehab. But, Karen, that was like five years ago. Everything's changed since then."

"I know." She took the last draft from her glass, emptying it. "It just feels kinda rotten that she talks to you, she talks to Luke, but she won't talk to me. Not about this."

"That's just Grace. She'll come around. You gotta give her time."

"Adam, we've been together for over a year. How much more time does she need?" Karen looked down and he suspected it was because she didn't want him to see her eyes watering.

"Hey," he softly addressed her. "I know this is hard for you. You and Joan, you're a lot alike. You can't stand not being able to fix things for people. But sometimes, you just can't, you know?"

She met his gaze with moist eyes, the tears not quite falling, and she nodded. "Yeah, I know only too well." He smiled at her and she laughed a little, despite the sob that was working its way up her throat. "And I also know well enough by now that you can't push Grace into doing anything she doesn't want to do."

"Truer words have never been spoken," he sighed.

She glanced at Grace and Luke again. They were back to laughing. Karen couldn't hold back the tears.

Adam's voice was just above a whisper. "Hey hey hey," he soothed her, stepping closer and enveloping her in a comforting hug. "It's gonna be OK."

"Yeah," Karen sniffled as he held her. "Easy for you to say."

He pulled back gently and looked her deep in the eyes, fishing an unused tissue from his jeans pocket and holding it out to her. "You love her, don't you?"

She took the tissue and blew her nose, then nodded.

"Then you'll work it out," he told her with confidence.

"Yeah, I guess," she said, sounding unsure. But he had to know what he was talking about. She saw him and Joan go through that rough patch in August, and they were able to work it out. "It's just so hard to stand by and watch when I want to help her. So badly. And she won't let me. Was she always like this?"

"Oh yeah," he confirmed. "Worse, actually."

"Worse?"

"You have no idea. There was a time when no one was allowed to go to her house. She kept everyone at arm's length, wouldn't try to make friends. She used to say that I was enough work." He chuckled at the memory and Karen smiled. Sounded like Grace. "She got away with that for a few years, until Joan and Luke moved here. Joan just kinda bulldozed her way into Grace's life, broke all the rules. And they ended up becoming best friends, despite how different they are."

"And Luke?"

He laughed a little. "You know, I'm not really sure how that happened. But it wasn't overnight. She doesn't trust people easily. She never has. But at least now, she has lots of friends and she's a thousand times more open than she used to be."

"You know, I get it now, what Joan was feeling back in the summer. Except you were just going through a bad spell. You came out of it. But you're basically telling me that this is just how Grace is. She's made as much progress as she's gonna make."

"No, I'm not saying that. People change, you know. They grow up. She will too. She's already really different than she was when we were kids. I mean, we knew each other's secrets, but we _never _talked about them. We just took comfort knowing that we weren't alone, dealing with a messed up mother," he said with a cynical undertone. "The silence got a lot worse when mine sort of went over the edge. I guess I did too for a while. Still do every once in a while. Sometimes... people get so broken that you can never fix 'em completely. Some of us have scars where other people have tender spots."

"Adam, don't talk like that. What happened to you was a terrible thing. And I know I wasn't there to witness any of it, but it seems to me that you came through it all just fine." She touched his arm.

Adam looked at her hand and tried not to let the circumstances surrounding his mother's death get to him yet again, but he wasn't really succeeding.

"You're a good man," Karen said quietly when she saw the doubt in his eyes.

His voice grew quiet. "You, uh... you really don't know what you're talking about."

"Why would you say that?"

Adam lifted his head a little. "There's just a lot of shit―" He stopped. Now was not the time for him to dredge up the things that dwelt in the darkest corners of his mind, things that could certainly change the opinions of many of the people who thought they knew him. "Nobody's perfect," he shrugged, wishing for a subject change or an excuse to end the conversation altogether.

Karen read him, and attempted to let it go with a simple, "Of course not."

He gave the newly refurbished yard and flower boxes another look before he said, "She would have loved this, all the colors and the life, the little path and the mural. I just hope she's somewhere watching."

Karen gave him a bright, brave smile, brusquely wiping away her tears. "I'm sure she is. I'm sure they're both really proud of you."

He nodded, smiling. "It turned out pretty well, didn't it?"

"It did."

After a second, he said, "Just hang in there. Grace can be a tough nut to crack, but if anyone can do it, you can."

Karen smiled at him gratefully. "Thanks."

Then suddenly Grace and Luke came walking toward Adam and Karen. Grace looked at Karen, then at Luke. "Dude, you gotta meet my girl."

Luke smiled warmly at Karen as he shook her hand. And, looking at his genuinely friendly face, Karen couldn't help but smile back. "Glad to finally meet you, Luke. I've certainly heard a lot about you."

"Good things, I hope."

"Mostly."

"That's a relief. She told me about you too. She uh, she said you're an amazing person and she loves you." He glanced at Grace and enjoyed the fact that he was making her blush. "Oh, and then there was that one thing about a hideous pumpkin costume last Halloween."

Karen was completely disarmed by him. She laughed and gaped at Grace. "No you didn't!"

Grace only shrugged apologetically.

Karen slapped her arm lightly. "You are so bad!"

Adam stood a couple of feet off to the side and watched them all break into laughter. This would go just fine. He was quite sure Karen would get along with Luke. He touched her arm and nodded toward Joan, standing with his Aunt Louisa. Karen smiled and he wandered off.

He saw his cousin Jamie engrossed in conversation with Kevin and Lily, and he had to smile to himself. This was a great party, all their friends and family were here and it looked like they were having fun. Once more he silently thanked whoever was responsible for how everything was falling into place, despite all of the bumps in the road.

* * *

"Would you look at that?" Joan said to her mother and Louisa as she came out the kitchen door. She nodded toward Adam kicking a soccer ball around the yard with his little cousins. "I didn't know he could play soccer." Zach tried to steal the ball from Hunter and tripped him instead. They ended up in a heap, pulling Adam down with them. The little one, Jonah, was trying to keep up and he jumped giggling on top of the pile of the other boys.

"Looks more like rugby to me," Brody remarked, snatching a cherry tomato from the veggie tray Joan was carrying and popping it in his mouth.

"Help me out here?" Joan asked, passing him the tray.

He took it and headed over to put it on the table.

Joan laughed when she saw that the kids still had Adam on the ground and they were tickling him mercilessly.

"He's wonderful with them," Louisa said, her soft voice filled with pride.

"Yes, he is," Helen agreed, reaching over to hold Joan's hand affectionately as she said, "Louisa, I confess I'm a little bit jealous."

"Aw, getting the grandma jones, Mom?" Joan smiled.

"It's only natural," Helen remarked.

Louisa couldn't keep her eyes off Adam and the kids. To Helen she said, "Oh, it's only a matter of time for you with those three gorgeous kids of yours. Look at how many chances you'll have."

"Yeah, Mom, I'm sure you'll be so stacked up with grandchildren one day, you'll rue the day you ever wished for them."

"Never." Helen shook her head.

"Well, don't count on us for that anytime soon. We want kids. Someday. When we're older and we've got our act together."

"What makes you think anyone ever gets their act together?"

Her mother's question surprised Joan a little. Her parents had always seemed so organized, like they had been born to be parents. She took the remark with a smile. "Mom, how many times have I asked you not to say stuff like that? It's wicked discouraging."

"Sorry."

Joan shrugged and looked at Adam again, now giving Jonah a piggy back ride while the other boys kicked the ball in a circle around him. "We'll have kids when the time is right," she told them, recalling God's words—that her union with Adam was meant to affect a lot of people.

"Sometimes they won't wait till then," Helen said and then realized she had just done it again. But it was true. "And how will you know when it's right?"

"I'm not saying I'll know. I'm saying it'll happen when it's supposed to. I think that whoever our kids are gonna be, they'll come into the world when it's their time."

Helen smiled warmly at her baby girl, surprised. "Honey, that's very spiritual."

_Really?_ she thought. But she said, "Thanks."

Adam had Jonah on his shoulders and Hunter and Zach trying to pull him down by both legs. Joan laughed and ran to his "rescue". She gave back some of the tickle-torture the boys had doled out on Adam earlier and they let him go. He put Jonah down and hugged her gratefully.

Caesar bounded up with his ball and the boys were off again, chasing him around the yard, trying to get him to drop it so they could play fetch.

"They're beautiful together," Louisa said, watching Adam and Joan and Jamie's boys. "I can see the future when I look at them, can you?"

"Do you mean, can I see Adam being the father of my grandchildren?" Helen smiled. "I most certainly can."

Suddenly, little Jonah stumbled over his own legs and fell down. And he began to cry.

"Oh, dear!" Louisa's instinct was to run to him, and Susan appeared ready to do the same thing.

But Adam instantly picked Jonah up in his arms and held him. He whispered something in the boy's ear that they couldn't hear from the patio. Jonah stopped crying and stuck his hand in his mouth as he began to laugh. Adam took him by the waist and spun him around, playing airplane. Jonah broke into uncontrollable giggles, and stuck his arms out like Superman. Everyone relaxed.

It made Louisa very happy to see her nephew so energized, so content. Most of the memories she had of him and Carl were filled with sadness and loneliness and grief.

Watching him with Jamie's children for the last half hour, Louisa was sure Adam would make great father one day. It was obvious in the patience and attention he had shown them when they asked a million questions about his sculptures. He took the time to explain everything in language they could understand. And he knew just how to comfort the wee one of the lot.

"This is the first time I can remember ever seeing him with children, but he's a natural." Helen chuckled a little. "To be honest, I'm a little surprised. He used to be so introverted, took him a long time to come out of his shell. It's wonderful to finally see him open up."

"I think your daughter worked some magic on him."

Helen smiled at that. Oh yes, Joan was definitely a big part of it, and that filled her heart fill with pride.

"I'm grateful to you and your family for everything you've done for him. I shudder to think what might've happened to him if he'd never met Joan," Louisa told her. "And Helen, do you know how much of a Godsend you were to him?"

"Me?"

"He said he never understood himself as an artist until you became his teacher."

"He did?"

"And of course there's so much more to it than that. You read his mother's note to him."

Helen felt a chill, thinking about that. "I remember that day." She nodded and looked at Lou, who only smiled. "I wasn't his teacher yet. And he wasn't even speaking to Joan. I'd just learned that his mother killed herself. And there he was, in my kitchen, with that envelope in his hand, so fearful of what was inside it. He asked Joan to read it but I guess she couldn't. She gave it to me. I barely got through it. That note broke my heart... but somehow, it mended his. At least enough for the real healing to start."

Louisa looked back out in the yard again and saw that the kids had finally wound down a little and they were sitting on the grass, petting Caesar who was lying on his back, panting with his tongue all flopped out. Adam and Joan were standing face to face with their arms around each other's waists, just talking and smiling into each other's eyes.

"You've got a really great family yourself, Louisa."

"Oh, Lou, please. Everyone calls me Lou."

"No one needs to tell you how adorable your grandsons are."

_"_Oh yes, they're a riot. Especially when they're all in the same place."

"It's funny, I can still see Kevin and Luke and Joan as toddlers. Sometimes, I thought they couldn't grow up fast enough, and suddenly they're adults and I wonder where the time went. They're all old enough to have kids of their own."

"Yes, the time does fly," Louisa said. "I couldn't believe it when Jamie and Susan told me she was pregnant with Hunter. They were so young, she was only 23. For a while I was a little concerned, to be honest. Jamie's work was touch-and-go. How were they going to raise a family if he lost his job? It all worked out, and I love my grandchildren, but maybe waiting till you're a little more mature before you start a family isn't the worst idea ever, you know?"

True. What she said definitely had merit. But then again, Joan and Adam both had stable jobs with lots of growth potential. They were settling into their own home. If it happened, she was quite sure they could handle the responsibility, even at their age.

"Yes, having children should be a carefully made choice. It just... doesn't always work that way. Especially when you're married to an Italian man."

Louisa laughed.

"But when a marriage creates a child, it's never an accident. We were deliriously happy when I found out I was pregnant with Kevin. Will and I made sure we were prepared and we tried so hard to do everything right. It wasn't always easy, but it was worth it."

Louisa nodded. "Oh yes, I definitely know how you feel."

"And we wanted our kids to be close in age, so Joan was planned. But she was a troublemaker in the womb, let me tell ya. I was sick the whole nine months, and it took her 35 hours to finally make her way out. After she was born, I swore I'd never have another child. And then there was Luke. He was an angel. Took me barely three hours of labor with him."

Adam and Brody were both kicking the soccer ball around with the kids now. Helen searched for Joan and spotted her at the grill with her father, picking out something to eat, it appeared. "Now look at them."

"I guess all of these kids are gonna be 'our kids' someday soon, Helen."

A big smile spread across Helen's face as she looked around all of them. She held out her wine glass to toast Louisa's iced tea. "To our kids."

"To our kids."

* * *

Louisa left Helen happily chatting with Joan and Susan in the back garden and entered the house. She was glad the girls had taken to each other so quickly and that they were getting along great. Talking to Helen on the patio left her with the feeling that their families were going to meld very easily into one. It gave her a real sense of relief because she knew that was exactly what Adam needed.

She went into the living room and found her bag beside the sofa. Adam entered then with muddy hands, heading for the half bath to wash up.

"Adam, honey, do you have a minute?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure," he said to Louisa, frowning slightly and showing her his filthy hands. "Give me a second."

He disappeared for a couple of minutes and then returned, going toward the kitchen. "I'm gonna get a Coca Cola. You want anything?"

She shook her head. "No, thank you, I'm fine."

"Be right back." He returned with a soda and looked at her inquisitively. "What's up?"

She didn't seem to know how to start at first. Finally, she reached into her handbag and took out an object that looked like an album or scrapbook. She and Adam went over to the couch and sat down.

"I want to show you something." She held it out to him.

Adam took it from her gingerly. "What is it?" he asked first, then opened it to take a closer look. On the first page inside he recognized his mother's calligraphy, spelling out the words _Our Adam_. What followed were baby pictures of him, a whole collection, the early ones carrying dates, inscriptions and explanations in his mother's writing. The first one had _Adam Nicholas Rove - Day One_ below it. She must've put the book together for her sister-in-law after months of collecting photos of her newborn son. The photos that followed were simply dated in what he guessed was Louisa's hand writing. When he was about three years old, the book began to include his little scribblings, his very earliest drawings. They grew in sophistication as he leafed through the book.

He stopped for a moment, lifted his head and looked his aunt in the eye. "Mom made this for you?"

"Yes, she sent it when you were four months old. She and Carl were so proud of you. She wanted me to see what a beautiful, sweet boy they had. She kept right on sending photos and drawings you did all the time. I kept every one and put them right in there. She sent me a school picture every year. And always something at Christmas."

He went back to looking at the album, moving on to when he was well into kindergarten age, smiling at a particular crude crayon drawing. Aunt Lou noticed and pointed it out. "Quite the little artist already," she said with a smile of her own.

"Yeah," he chuckled, then turned the page again. "In serious need of refining his skills."

Together they went through the photos and cards that Carl and Elizabeth had sent, carefully and reverently. Adam read some of the cards aloud. It was amazing, there were pictures he was sure he had never seen before and cards he didn't recognize despite his elephant memory.

In his twelfth year, the cards and photos stopped. The next thing he saw was a picture of him and his father, taken when he was 17. He remembered sending it to Louisa himself. He hadn't spoken to her in a while, but that Christmas, he made sure she got a card with the photo. It was a better Christmas that year than he remembered having since his mom died. He felt more connected to the world than he had in years. He had Joan and her mother to thank for that. They had miraculously rescued him from the menacing throes of depression and sadness by making him face his mother's suicide note after all those years. He and Carl started talking about their family again and Adam had promised Louisa to check in with her often. A promise he still kept.

Louisa noticed the seemingly sudden drop of temperature in the room as the implication of the missing years in the photos sank in. She heard Adam say quietly, "We stopped sending photos after... that day."

She looked at him with all the sympathy she had. "You went through a rough time, I understand how you didn't want to be reminded."

"We should have kept that up." His voice was suddenly filled with regret.

"You did. After a while."

He smiled a small, sad smile. "Because of Joan... and her family. I guess she kind of saved me."

Louisa's gaze on him was full of appreciation and pride. "She's a remarkable young woman. I'm so glad you have her in your life again."

"Yeah, me too." There was a pause before he went on, "Can I hang on to this until tomorrow? I'd really like to show it to Joan."

"Yes, of course. We're gonna come by tomorrow before we leave anyway."

"Thanks," he said.

She looked at him, took in his features. He had grown up so much, just since she'd last seen him in May. "You know," she started, "I wanted you to see the book because you need to know how proud your parents were, no matter how hard it was. When you called me that time, to ask about when... when Elizabeth was ready to leave Carl, I know you'd had quite a shock. Carl could get a little short-tempered in the heat of the moment, but he was never a violent person, even as child. And I never doubted for a second that he loved your mother with all his heart. I can only explain that incident as a terrible lapse of judgment.

"Adam, he was devastated by what happened, he was beside himself. He knew the mess he'd made, and all he could think about was somehow making it up to her."

Adam swallowed. He hadn't wanted to talk about this again. He'd put it behind him. Hadn't he? But he realized that it was important to Louisa for him to understand that his father was not a bad person. He looked at her with resolve. "I know he didn't mean to hit her, and I want to believe he never did it again. We all screw up. No one knows that better than me."

When he absently turned back the pages to the baby pictures, he remembered something. "Aunt Lou, I found this... this letter from Mom's doctor saying she shouldn't get pregnant, and if she did, he wouldn't treat her anymore. They must've taken it seriously. I mean, Dad kept it all those years. But here I am. How?"

"Honey, your mom desperately wanted a baby. They tried for a while when they first got married, but then she started getting sick and the meds... Well, the doctors were afraid for her to get pregnant because of them. Carl was inclined to agree with their advice. But as she got older, it became really important to her. She begged him to try again, but he was just too scared things would go wrong if she had to stop taking her meds. She was stable and they were happy and he didn't want that to change, but she wouldn't let it go. In the end, somehow, she convinced him. They worked it out together and everything fell into place. She got pregnant two months after they stopped using contraception. It was amazing, like it was meant to be."

Adam's eyes lit up a little. Joan was right, he should have asked Lou about all of this a long time ago instead of letting the questions eat at him. "During the pregnancy, she stopped taking the meds?"

"She had to. But she was fine. Somehow the hormones must have balanced her out. I don't think I ever saw her happier than when she was pregnant. She was like a new person, or like her truest self. It was beautiful to watch. Unfortunately, post-partum depression set in about a week after you were born. Carl saw it right away. So she had to go back on medication. It nearly broke her heart that she had to stop breast-feeding, but she accepted it because she knew it was the only way she could have her little boy. And she loved you so much. You should have seen them, Adam. They were so happy, so proud. You gave them new life too."

Adam could feel his eyes welling with tears suddenly. He blinked, his brow furrowing. Louisa looked at him and saw that one lone tear ran down his cheek. She softly wiped it away with her thumb. He lifted his eyes to meet her gaze with such deep gratitude that she had to fight not to break into tears herself.

"Come here," she whispered, drawing him into a hug, which he returned.

When she released him, he smiled at her with renewed strength. "Thank you," he said simply.

"Sometimes I forget how lucky it is that Jamie and I live within ten minute's drive of each other. Even with the distance between Maryland and Pennsylvania, you and I have to stay in touch, OK?"

"OK," he nodded. "Oh yeah, I've been meaning to e-mail you. I wanted to tell you that I hooked up this really great new webcam, so we can talk online."

"Then we'll do that. Adam, I'm so glad you invited us down to see your lovely home." She smiled as she looked around the living room. "Joan said I wouldn't recognize the place, and she was right. You can really see the woman's touch." She noticed that Adam was looking at her quizzically and she quickly cut in, "No offense."

Adam laughed softly. "None taken. For the record, I picked out a lot of the stuff in here. And I designed the landscaping."

"Of course. You have a wonderful eye and a God-given talent. You and Joan, you've both done a remarkable job."

"I can't believe Dad and I lived in this house as long as we did without ever making any changes."

"Changes happen when they're meant to, whether you like it or not."

Adam nodded, resigned to the truth of that statement. "Yes they do."

She reached out and brushed his fine dark hair off his forehead. It was getting a bit bushy there lately, almost curly. "But you like these changes?" she posited.

"Yeah, we're really happy with them," he said instantly. Then he realized she wasn't just talking about the reclamation. _The Reclamation_, he thought. There was so much more to it than fixing up a house and its yards. He was also trying to reclaim some version of himself that he actually liked. The one who was building something new every day instead of disappearing into the past. The one who deserved to be with Jane.

Louisa smiled. It filled her with joy to see him like this. "You're really happy, period," she concluded.

"Embarrassingly so."

Suddenly, she could see her brother sitting on her parents' sofa some 35 years before, holding Elizabeth MacCready's hand, announcing that they were engaged. "When you receive blessings like this, just give thanks and enjoy them."

"How could I not?" he grinned.

"Adam," Louisa began seriously, "I know you're on fire right now, eager to get married and get on with your life, but the most important thing in the world for you to remember is to live in the now. Savor every moment."

That was a hard lesson that Adam's entire life had taught him. His mother's bad days taught him to relish the good ones. Her death taught him to treasure his father. And losing Joan taught him the true power of their connection.

Words choked in his throat, so he merely nodded.

Louisa nodded too. She would have to send up her own prayer of thanks for her nephew's recent good fortune as soon as she had a moment's peace.

To break the silence that fell between them, he got up from the couch and asked, "Did you get a good look at the mural on the shed wall?"

"Not up close."

"Then let me show you," he offered his hand and helped Lou up. She put her arm around him as he led her out the back door to introduce her to Jamal's vibrant, inspired artwork.

* * *

"Luke, I need to talk to you for a second," Joan said as she approached him, standing with Grace and Karen, talking and laughing.

He shrugged apologetically at his companions. "Ladies, excuse me."

Karen nodded and smiled at him as he walked away with his sister. She liked him so much more than she ever thought possible. Being a biology and chemistry teacher, she was having way too much fun engaging him in a bit of scientific talk. Grace enjoyed listening to them as well. Reminded her of old times. She even cut in every now and then when she had something to contribute to the conversation. She was relieved to see Luke and Karen getting along. She'd been worried before the party that it might be awkward or even ugly between them. Which was ridiculous, of course, because they were both warm, decent people.

After they watched Joan drag Luke into the house, Karen gave Grace a long look. "You never told me he was so cool. And funny."

Grace smiled at her. "What, you expected a total dork?"

"Well, you said he was a science geek."

"I also said he wasn't some pocket-protector nerd too, didn't I?"

"Yeah, well, doesn't matter. I like him." She looked at Grace for a moment. "I am a leeeetle jealous though. Did you see the way his eyes light up around you?"

"Give me a break."

"What are you, blind? He's still into you."

"Nah, that ship sailed a long time ago."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"What went wrong between you two?"

Grace shrugged. "We broke up at the end of senior year. I don't really even remember why. First love, you know—despite the freakshow that is Rove and Girardi—is not supposed to last forever. Hence the term 'first love'."

"Maybe. But I'm telling you, if you were single right now..."

Grace mulled the thought over. Truth was she didn't know if Karen was just teasing her or if there might be some merit to what she was suggesting. She hadn't thought about Luke for a while before today.

"Is he seeing anyone?" Karen asked.

Grace shrugged a little. She hadn't even asked him that. "I don't know," she admitted. "Why don't you ask Joan? She's always all up in everybody's business."

"I was just curious," Karen told her, playfully. "It's not like I'm gonna stalk him or something. You know, Grace, there's a big difference between casual interest and invasion of privacy. Don't be so paranoid."

Grace glared at her and Karen realized that maybe she had gone a little too far. She didn't want to upset Grace in the middle of the party so she touched her arm and said, "I'm sorry. Maybe we should drop this for now."

Grace swallowed her unease and gave Karen a conciliatory smile. "You're probably right." Wanting to steer them both away from the topic, she spotted Kevin and Lily over by the snack table. "You haven't met Joan's older brother yet, have you?"

"Not formally, no." She glanced around and found him talking to his girlfriend and Brody.

"Come on. I'll introduce you."

* * *

"Hey," Adam said, interrupting Joan and Karen in the kitchen refilling snack trays. "Wanna do it now?"

"Now?" Joan asked, but seeing the open, excited expression on his face, she smiled. "Now's good."

Karen looked up at her curiously.

"You'll see." Joan leaned down, opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of champagne, handing them to Adam. She took out two more. "Karen, in that cabinet over there is a bag of plastic flutes. Can you get it?"

Karen smiled. "Sure." Finally, the champagne was being broken out! She'd learn what the big mystery was.

Together, the three of them stepped out onto the back patio. "Everyone," Joan said loudly. Kevin was closest to the stereo so Joan nodded at him to turn the music down. He did so. "Um, excuse me, everyone!"

Conversations died down and finally people were quiet. And all eyes were on Joan, standing there with champagne bottles in her arms, Adam beside her with more.

"We have an announcement to make. Adam?" She looked at him, indicating for him to continue.

"Yeah, uh, we wanted you guys to be the first to know and to celebrate with us. We've set a wedding date. We want all of you to be our guests this coming April 9th, when we finally make it official."

"Of course you'll get real invitations in the mail. And it's a Saturday so no excuses."

Laughter rose in the ranks and everyone clapped. Then their friends and family encircled them with congratulatory hugs and handshakes. They popped the champagne corks and filled flutes all around.

"There's sparkling cider for anyone who doesn't want champagne," Joan announced, pointing out two bottles on the table beside them.

Louisa poured up flutes of it for the children and took one herself. Grace took one as well.

After hugging his sister and shaking Adam's hand, Luke asked, "Who's gonna be your Best Man?" He wasn't angling for the job. He hardly saw Adam. He was merely curious.

Adam stared blankly at him for a second. That was a very good question. Honestly, he said, "I don't know. We're just starting to plan things. I haven't even thought about it yet."

"Oh," Luke remarked. He would never say it, but it seemed odd that it wasn't even a consideration.

"It's supposed to be, like, your best friend, right? Or your brother or something?" Adam asked.

"Traditionally, yeah."

"My best friend is Grace," Adam mused aloud.

"Well, you know, tradition isn't everything."

"No, it's not." Adam searched out Grace in the crowd. When he found her, he approached her, champagne glass still in hand. Luke followed. "Grace?"

She turned to him and smiled, "'Bout time you guys nailed down a date, Rove."

"Yeah, I know. Listen, I need to ask you something."

She frowned, fearing one of those favors you never want to do. "OK."

"Um, this is gonna sound a little weird, but you're my best friend and I... I want you to be a part of this, to stand up for me... in the wedding."

She wanted to laugh at what she thought he was suggesting, but she realized he was dead serious. She swallowed and tried to wipe the smirk off her face. "You mean, like, be your Best Man?"

"We can call it Best Friend instead," he suggested, only half-jokingly.

She thought about it for a long moment before she asked, "Can I wear a tux like Marlene Dietrich?"

"Anything you want." Was that a yes?

Karen noticed that Luke smiled at that image. But then, so did she.

Grace seemed to contemplate the idea for another moment before she finally said, "OK, I'll do it."

Adam's mouth curled up into a smile. "Thank you," he said, lowering his voice a little.

She smiled at him mischievously. "You might regret this, you know."

"Nah, I don't think so."

"You have been warned."

Just then Brody approached from behind, giving Adam a good-natured slap on the shoulder. "Finally tying the knot, huh?"

He turned towards Brody. "Good things come to those who wait, you know."

"Quit with the flowery phrases, man. All I can say is, it's about time."

Adam gave him a hopeful and expectant smile. "Brody, you don't know the half of it. Someday, I'll tell you a long, sad story with a very happy ending."

Brody laughed. "Save it for the bachelor party. I can't always be the only one with the juicy stories."

* * *

Karen was finally taking a break form helping with the party to have a bite to eat. She was just finishing a plate of pasta salad and grilled chicken, listening to Helen talk about the preliminary planning stages of the wedding. She felt very comfortable around Helen. She was definitely a cool mom. It gave her a little ache, thinking of her own family. Her mother was terribly old-fashioned and had grown very cold toward her after she came out. Karen was the youngest of four children, with five years between her and her next older brother. She didn't really see any of them anymore except on obligatory occasions like holidays and funerals. For a very long time it hurt that they had never really been able to accept her, but she had made her own life, her own chosen family. They were enough.

Suddenly, the back door opened and Caesar bounded inside with his ball in his mouth, followed by the tiny, trampling feet of Jamie's boys chasing after him. Karen laughed at the game of keep-away, which was Caesar's favorite. Helen was afraid that Jonah might get hurt so she took off after them to make sure that didn't happen.

Luke entered the kitchen, tossed an empty cup in the nearest trash can and reached into one of the coolers for another drink. He pulled out a Smirnoff Ice, unscrewed the top and took a swig. Karen grinned at him. "You know that's a girl's drink, don't you?"

He looked like he actually blushed. "Oh, uh... Well, what can I say? I'm exploring my feminine side?"

She now smiled at him, leaning in, whispering conspiratorially, "Promise I won't tell anyone."

He chuckled. "That's reassuring."

They meandered over to stand near the counter, leaning against it. Conversationally, Karen said, "So, you drove all the way down from Massachusetts just for the party?"

"Kind of. Of course my mom, the strategist, arranged for our monthly Family Night to fall on this Sunday. So I'm taking a couple of days off, catching up with everybody. It's not easy getting down here. Can't always do it when I want to."

Karen nodded. "So you come down and see your family once a month?"

"I try to."

"How come you never look Grace up?"

"Well, I..." He shrugged. "Actually, I don't know. I've wanted to. Many times. I guess I just felt... We have our own lives..." He paused for a moment, pursing his lips. "Huh," he chortled. "You know, I guess it all kind of makes sense now."

"What does?"

"Why things fell apart between Grace and me."

"Why?" Karen asked.

"When we were together in high school, we were totally into each other. I was certainly in love, seemed like she was too. We were like the poles of a magnet; we couldn't have been more different. But isn't that what they say? Opposites attract?"

She watched him smile a little, she guessed he was flashing back to those days. The flush in his cheeks might've been caused by the fact that he had a bit of a buzz by now. She was feeling the effects herself, not having eaten much of anything all night, until just now. How many glasses of wine had she had? Three maybe? Then the champagne. Yeah, she was definitely getting there. _Better stick to sodas and water for the rest of the night,_ she made a mental note. "So what happened?" she said, nudging him a little to carry on. She definitely wanted to know what Grace had been like in high school, and what their story had been.

He looked at her for a moment when she pulled him out of his reverie, then said, "More like what didn't happen. We were together for two years, and we fooled around _a lot_. But we never... we never went all the way."

Karen had to try very hard not to gape at him. She was completely shocked by that admission. In her mind, she had built up the whole Grace/Luke thing into this great, torrid romance. One that she often feared she could not compete with. And he was telling her this?

Noting the expression on her face, he continued, "I mean, we were teenagers, we didn't have a clue. I always thought it would just happen naturally. But it never did. I tried not to let it bother me at first. But over time, things got more and more tense when she put on the brakes. She'd say she wanted to wait for the right time. I mean... two years. When's the right time gonna come?" He looked at Karen as if he really expected an answer to a question that was completely unanswerable.

She merely shrugged.

"We started to fight about it after a while. In the end, we had a long talk and decided that maybe it was time to cool it for while and see if we were really meant for each other. Turned out we weren't. But I mean, you know, compared to what happened between Adam and Joan the year before, our break-up was quite peaceful and civilized. We stayed friends for a while. But, well, with the geographical distance after graduation..."

Karen frowned. What happened between Adam and Joan in high school? That was a story she certainly wanted to hear. Sometimes she did wish that Grace hadn't been born without a gossip bone.

Her mind went back to the subject at hand. So Grace never slept with Luke, huh? Hmmmm. That made Karen wonder if she had ever actually slept with a guy at all.

Luke watched her reaction. "It just kinda makes sense now, in retrospect. Maybe she couldn't go there because she... you know..." he stammered, not quite sure to how to phrase it eloquently, "because she wasn't sure about her sexual preference." He snorted a short laugh. "Actually, it's kind of ironic. Friedman always used to say she was a lesbian. He called her Marge. She hated it."

"Luke, for some people, it's not necessarily about gender preference. She loved _you_, not a collection of body parts. Probably in high school, she just honestly wasn't ready to go there... with anyone."

He nodded. He certainly couldn't argue with Karen's assessment. What did he know? About bisexuality? About Grace? About any of it?

"She talks about you sometimes, and it's always good things. She was lucky you were the one she was with during all that. By being patient and sticking with her, maybe you helped her work it all out. I know it probably sounds pretty cheesy, but she couldn't have had anyone better to help her with everything she was going through back then." She paused for a moment and let him think about what she was saying, before continuing. "I know you helped her get her mom into rehab. She told me she never could've done it without you."

He didn't really want to remember all that. Aside from Kevin's accident, it was probably the hardest thing he'd ever had to deal with. But he knew that however hard it was for him, for Grace, it was a thousand times harder. "Yeah, that was... a pretty ugly situation."

Karen nodded. Grace had confided some of it to her. But she was sure she would never know the whole story.

"Things aren't going so well with her mom right now, are they?" he asked quietly.

Ah, so Grace did talk to him about it.

"Not really, no."

"Is she getting any help?"

Karen shrugged a little. "Well, you know, they can both be pretty stubborn. Grace is doing all she can, but Sarah has to decide that she needs help. And she's not there yet. We're all on pins and needles, just waiting."

"Anything I can do?" he offered.

Karen smiled. It was a sweet gesture. He was definitely a good guy, no two ways about it. She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe—"

"There you are!" they heard Grace's voice, halting their conversation instantly. "You're not talking about me, are you?"

Karen put on her best innocent expression. "What? Never! You know me."

"Exactly," Grace said.

* * *

Karen and Grace were the last to leave the party, having stayed to help clean up. When Adam came back into the kitchen from seeing them off at the front door, Joan was carrying in the last tray of dirty glasses from the patio, putting them next to the sink. "We can do the dishes tomorrow, right?"

He nodded, sinking down on one of the kitchen chairs. His answer was an exhausted sigh that kind of resembled, "Yeah."

She went over to the table and sat down next to him. Her eyes fell upon the unfamiliar album lying to the side. She reached for it. "What's this, another housewarming gift?"

As she took it and opened it, he answered, "It's from Aunt Lou, but it's not a gift. I asked her if I could keep it until tomorrow, so I could show it to you."

Joan was already turning the first page. "A baby album of you?"

"More like a growing-up album."

"Did Louisa make it?"

"Well, the first part was done by my mom. Then she sent it to Lou and she completed it with all the pictures and memorabilia that my mom and dad kept sending. It's essentially the story of me. In a nutshell."

"Adam Nicholas Rove," Joan read aloud. "Have I told you that I really like the sound of that?"

He smirked at her. "No, you never told me."

"Well, I do."

"Joan Agnes Girardi is music to my ears."

"Oh, no," she frowned. "I hate the name Agnes. It sounds like a grouchy old maid from the 19th century, white apron and bonnet and everything."

Adam laughed openly. "Maybe Joan Agnes Rove has a better ring to it?"

She looked at him with a new question in her eyes. "You know, we never actually discussed this."

"This what? You taking my last name? That's... I didn't... I didn't mean to imply that you had to. I mean..."

"Yeah, what if I don't want to be called Rove?"

"Uh, I... I don't know. You don't?"

She loved watching him squirm and had a hard time keeping a straight face. She slapped his shoulder playfully. "Relax, honey. I'm kidding. I love your name."

He breathed out a small sigh of relief.

"But seriously, Agnes? I think I might use Girardi as my middle name. You know, like Joan Girardi Rove. No hyphen though. I want to be Mrs. Rove."

"Cool," he chuckled, happily. "Because that's _all_ I want."

She smiled and her attention went back to the photo album. When her eyes fell on a picture of him with his bottom lip all pooched out and his baby brow all knotted up in that particular was of his, she had to laugh. "Awww, look at that. Sweet little pouty Adam."

"Wasn't I cute?" he joked.

"Oh, you were a total cutie. Look at you, I wanna pinch you, you're so cute." She snagged the skin of one of his cheeks between her thumb and index finger and jiggled it a little. He just smiled a sweet smile at her that made her want to kiss him, but she focused her attention back on the album.

They went through it page by page, Joan giggled a lot at the photos of him as a kid, pointing out the gap in his front teeth as a first-grader and then later how he kind of had buck teeth that he thankfully outgrew as a young teen, before she ever met him. Adam told her stories he remembered about when some of the photos were taken and they laughed a lot.

Joan didn't comment on the missing years in the photos during his early teens. She knew exactly what they meant. Adam didn't want to get into it either, and she sensed that. She had a better idea anyway. She leaned over and kissed his earlobe, "Baby?"

It tickled but he remained still. "Mmmmhmmm?"

"It's getting really late. Why don't we take advantage of that big ol' gift basket and have a nice, relaxing hot bath before we go to bed. We've really earned it, wouldn't you say?"

He smiled at her and nodded. "Oh yeah, definitely."

She went over to where they had put the housewarming presents, going for the giant gift basket Grace and Karen had given them. She withdrew a beige bottle and unscrewed the cap as she went back to where Adam remained at the table. She sat in his lap.

"How does this smell?" She held the bottle of vanilla and hazelnut bubble bath to his nose, squishing it a little. But she squeezed too hard, so that some of the soapy substance stuck to the underside of Adam's nose. "Oops," she blurted.

She had to giggle again as he wiped it away, stating, "Not so great as inhalant, but it'll do just fine as bubble bath."

"OK, then what are we waiting for?"

She got out of his lap and pulled at his arm. He was more wiped than she was, but she could feel her exhaustion just under the surface as well. A bath would be the perfect way to end a gloriously successful day.

When all the lights downstairs were finally out, Joan filled the tub. They were both tired and achy and felt sticky and grungy from all the sweaty physical exertion of the day. She thought this might help relax them into slumber. Even though she made full use of all the pertinent things in the romantically-themed basket—the bubbles, the three fat sensuous-scent candles, the inflatable bath pillow for his back—she really had no intention of trying to engage him in sex. The day had been long and draining. She knew they should just soak for a while and get some sleep.

When the room and the water temp were right, they slipped through the bubbles into the bath. Adam leaned back against the pillow. Joan sat between his legs and leaned back against him.

"You know, it's a damn shame we never got around to using the Jacuzzi in the cottage on our practice honeymoon," she said.

"Well, then we'll make sure we have one on the real honeymoon."

He wrapped his arms and legs around her. "You know what occurred to me today?"

God, he felt good like that. "What?"

"We're gonna be family," he whispered in her ear.

It was a lovely thought. "I think we already are."

"Yeah, I know, but," he ran his hands through her hair as he tried to explain what he was feeling. "I mean... I looked around today and I saw all these people I love, and some of them have never met each other before... and they were all here... together... for us. Just for us, Jane. We're blending our families."

Joan again remembered what God said. She could already see how being with Adam was affecting other people's lives. And as they made their own little family, the effect would only grow, like the ripples on the pond that had become such a strong metaphor for everything God asked her to do. She had puzzled all night over the things he said. What was he really asking for now?

Maybe Adam nailed it. A new family.

Looking back over her shoulder at him, she only knew that she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She almost melted as she looked into his smiling eyes.

"What?" he asked.

She kissed him lovingly, feeling his arms wrap just a little tighter around her. "I'll tell you later," she whispered.

* * *

After draining the tub and toweling off, they dropped into bed, exhausted, but blissful. She watched him sink into his pillow and just before he drifted off, she said quietly, almost hoping he would only hear it in his sleep, "God gave us His blessing tonight."

Suddenly, he was wide awake. "What?"

"I asked if I could introduce Him to you but He said that we'd worked so hard, He wanted us to just enjoy the night."

"God was in our house and He told you we have His blessing?" Adam repeated, incredulously.

"Yes."

"Who?" he asked. But before she could even open her mouth to answer, he said, "That _guy_, was it that guy? I knew I'd seen him before."

Joan nodded. "Brown hair, gentle eyes."

"He was the one you talked to in high school," he realized.

"The first one. I watched you shake His hand when He left."

"I shook God's hand?" he marveled.

"You're having a tough time with this, aren't you?"

His brow furrowed as he mulled that question over. "Well, you know, it's not every day that God comes to someone's housewarming party and gives His blessing."

"Exactly. Do you know how rarely I get any indication from Him that He approves of what I'm doing with my life?"

Adam's head fell back on the pillow like the weight of the world had just landed on him.

"I didn't mean for this to wig you out. I just wanted you to know. I wanted you to be as happy as I am that even God says we're meant to be."

He rolled over on his side and looked at her very seriously, "Jane, I don't need anybody to tell me that," he said. "Not even God."

"I know. Neither do I. But if you'd heard what He said..."

"What did He say?"

"He said He hasn't given me an assignment lately because I'm already doing what I'm supposed to. He said good things would happen for a lot of people because we're together. Of course, just like always, He wouldn't tell me what that means."

"What do you think it means?"

"I don't know... Maybe you're right. Maybe it's about family."

"Our family," Adam whispered.

She smiled and leaned forward to kiss hips lips softly. "Yeah, our family."

* * *


	22. Sewer Gazing

**_Chapter 19_  
Sewer Gazing**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
When Deb asked me to help out with the "Bless This House" chapter, I came up with a scene between Adam and Karen. And while I was writing it, I realized that I couldn't just leave it like that, that there had to be a follow-up that would involve an honest talk between Adam and Grace. This is what it became, although the beginning of the chapter is a little more about Joan & Adam than Grace & Adam._

_**Synopsis:**  
The old every-day routine descends on Adam and Joan. Things get tense when work complications put pressure on Adam. Grace silently, stoically tries to deal with her mother's renewed drinking problem, shutting Karen out. Their grown-up problems and a visit to their old hangout force the two childhood friends to take a closer look at their relationships._

_**Rating: PG-13 **for adult themes and language._

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool._

* * *

Silence greeted Joan when she entered the house—which wasn't all that unusual, sometimes Adam was in the shed or at the computer upstairs. She looked at her watch, 9:36 pm. She put her purse down and called his name. No answer.

The kitchen looked untouched since the morning, there were no signs of him even having been home at all, actually. She quickly checked the shed. He wasn't there either. A call to his cell phone only yielded his outgoing message. He couldn't still be at work, could he? He sometimes worked late, but never this late. She dialed his work number.

"Liquid Designs, this is Adam," his familiar, deep voice greeted her.

"What are you still doing at the studio?" she said without preamble.

"What?" he asked. "Oh God, Jane, I totally lost track of time. Is it really half past nine?"

"Yeah," she said with a 'duh' undertone.

"Jesus. I'm sorry, I should have called. It's just, you know, I had the project management seminar all day, and when I got back to the office afterwards I had, like, fifteen change orders on my desk for this ad thing we need to finish by Thursday, and I started on that, and I... I guess I got a little carried away."

Her annoyance was melting with his every word. "Will you be home soon?" she carefully asked.

"Yeah, I... I'll just finish this one thing and then I'm gonna drop everything and come home. Deal?"

"Deal," she replied.

When he finally did get home, it was almost half past ten.

"There's some left over meatloaf in the fridge. You want me to nuke it for you?" she asked as he took off his jacket and shoes. He looked very tense and tired in his movements and Joan made a mental note offer him a relaxing massage later in bed. _Just_ a massage.

"Nah, I... kinda binged on a bag of chips and that Snickers bar I still had in the drawer."

She went over to meet him, put her arms around his neck and softly kissed him on the lips. "That's not very healthy, you know?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I know. What was I supposed to do? I was hungry, but I didn't have time to run out and grab anything."

"Didn't they feed you at the seminar?" she asked.

"Well, yeah, but that was lunch. We only got coffee and cookies in the afternoon before they shooed us off."

Joan couldn't help but smile at the mental image. She took in the tired lines on his forehead. "You do look pretty wiped."

"It was kind of a demanding day," he said as he walked over to the couch and sat down with his back leaning against the pillows on the arm. "I mean, the seminar was really good, not that boring old crap." He told her about some of the interesting anecdotes their trainer had shared with them and also about one of their more demanding clients who had insisted on last minute changes for the candy bar ad campaign that Adam's design studio was doing for them.

When he finished, he closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Joan looked at him, focusing on the fact that he was still wearing his slacks and dress shirt. "Don't you think you'd be more comfortable in sweat pants and a t-shirt?"

He met her gaze briefly. "Yeah, I guess so." But he didn't get up for another moment or two, tired as he was.

After he went upstairs, Joan sat there on the sofa for another minute, but then she remembered her mental note from earlier. She caught him in the bedroom just as he was putting on a t-shirt over the black pair of sweat pants he had opted for. She went to him, stood behind him and moved the hem of the t-shirt back up towards his head, whispering in his ear, "I think I know what you need right now."

She could feel him tense a little. With a sigh, he said, "Jane, I don't think I'm up for that tonight."

"Shocking," Joan chuckled. "But that's not where I was going, gutter-brain. Take off your shirt," she instructed him.

He turned around, looking at her curiously as he complied.

"Now lie down on the bed. On your belly."

He did so, surprised when she left him there. But then, he saw her come back from the bathroom with a bottle in her hand that he recognized. Oh yes, she definitely knew what he needed.

He took in the spicy scent of the massage oil that they'd recently picked up as it filled the air. He looked up to find Joan rubbing her palms together to warm it. Usually it was him working her tense muscles with his hands, especially those problematic ones in her lower back. But tonight, tonight he would languish in the pleasure of her soothing touch on his naked skin.

She sat astride his thighs, supporting some of her body weight with her own legs. She leaned forward and first softly ran her hands over his back to spread the massage oil evenly over his skin. She could feel so many knots that she didn't know where to begin.

"Sweetie, you need to relax," she gently told him.

"Yeah," he breathed, and shook himself out a little, trying to release some of the tension in his muscles. When she touched his back again, he was finally succumbing to his weariness and enjoying having her hands on him. "Much better," she told him.

She started working up the muscle strands on either side of his spine, from his lumbar to his neck. The closer she got to his shoulders, the more knots she could feel. Obviously, this would have to be her focus.

He was slowly melting under her touch, she could feel it. Sometimes he would utter a little grunt. She couldn't really tell if she was giving him pleasure or if the way she was kneading his tense muscles was causing him pain. She could empathize, it sometimes hurt a little at first when he worked on the problem zones in her back.

"Are you okay?" she asked when she got another grunt out of him. Well, more like a groan.

"Don't you dare stop," he said in a deep, almost sleepy voice. Oh yeah, she had a good thing going here and she felt joyful that she was able to give him just a taste of all the good things he had done for her.

She went over his shoulders and down his arms, almost lying down on him, allowing her hair to fall over her shoulders to brush his back and neck. Then she moved her hands back up to his neck, which she very gently rubbed. Finally, her hands went into his hair and she massaged his scalp and his temples. And this time, he moaned, followed by the most adorable sigh. He was done.

A little laugh escaped her. She'd reduced him to a stain on the comforter. Her fingers were getting tired but it didn't stop her from wanting to touch him. Her motions simply became softer, gentler. In the end, she just stroked his back, enjoying how the warmth of his skin matched the warmth of her hands. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to feel his hands on her naked body. But he was finally relaxed and he was so tired, she didn't have the heart to do more than dream of it.

Instead, she removed herself from his thighs and got the thin fleece blanket from the chair in the corner, draping it over Adam's naked back. She lay down next to him, looked at him. His eyes were closed, and for a moment she thought he might have fallen asleep on her, but then he whispered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she whispered sincerely as her hand went to the nape of his neck, caressing the cute little cowlick he had there. "I should do that more often."

"Hmmmm," he intoned, relishing the thought. "I won't object."

Joan could feel herself tiring too, so before she could get too sleepy, she got up and went into the bathroom to change into pjs and get bed-ready. She could use an early night just as much as Adam.

As she suspected, he was slowly drifting off to sleep too. She lightly touched his hair. "You should brush your teeth before you fall asleep. Change into pajamas."

"Don't want to," he mumbled. "I'm good right here."

"I know you don't want to, honey. I'd do it for you if I could."

"Then why don't you?" he sighed.

"Very funny," Joan retorted. "Come on, it'll only take a minute. I'll keep your spot warm. Promise."

"All right," he finally grumbled.

Joan was already dozing off when he crawled into bed a few minutes later. They were both exhausted and fell asleep in no time. They didn't even bother with their usual goodnight kiss.

* * *

He closed the front door behind him quietly as he entered the house, sighing inwardly. It was almost midnight. Again. He hung his jacket on the coat rack and kicked off his shoes, paying no mind to where they landed.

The lights were off and all was silent, so he guessed Joan was already in bed. He tried to make as little commotion as possible as he walked up the stairs, but that last step had a terrible creak that he hadn't been able to fix.

The bedroom door was ajar, so he pushed it open. He could just make out Joan's figure in bed in the splinter of light that fell in from the small hallway. She was either asleep or pretending to be, because she didn't move when he stepped in.

He got ready for bed in the bathroom, trying not to wake her up. But when he slipped into bed, he felt her stir next to him, rolling over to face him, opening her eyes, squinting at the dim light from his bedside table lamp.

"What time is it?" she asked groggily.

"Almost half past midnight," came his quiet reply.

"Oh God, I've barely been asleep for an hour. Did you just get home?"

"Yeah," he sighed.

Her voice was weary. "Adam, you've been working round the clock for almost a week now. How long are you gonna keep this up?"

"Jane, you know we have this deadline to meet. It's not like I'm doing it for fun."

"I know," she said, caving in. "I just miss you."

He smiled regretfully. "I miss you too," he whispered, touching her cheek affectionately.

She scooted closer and turned around, so that they could lie in spoons. He slung his arm around her very naturally as she said, "Just tell me this won't last much longer."

There was a moment's hesitation, because he honestly wasn't sure how long it would last. Their deadline kept getting pushed out every few days because there was always something else coming up. In fact, it had just been postponed another three days today. But he didn't want to get into that with her tonight. "It won't last much longer," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

Apparently that was enough for her. "Okay," she whispered, sounding sleepy.

"Let's go to sleep," he whispered back.

"M-hm," she mumbled, already halfway there.

The next morning, Joan thought that after working till midnight, Adam should be allowed to sleep at least fifteen minutes longer than usual. If he was a tiny bit late, what could they really say? He was busting his ass for the company. When she finally woke him and he glanced at the alarm clock, he jumped out of bed, hissing at her that he had a meeting with a client at 8:30 and why didn't she wake him when his alarm went off?

He rushed off into the bathroom and she didn't see him for another fifteen minutes when he came down in his work clothes, his hair still damp. "Dammit," he muttered, trying to tie his tie as he rushed into the kitchen, not quite managing.

She knew there was no time for breakfast, so she just handed him his travel mug filled with coffee. He tried to take a hasty sip. As if he hadn't expected the coffee to be hot, he jerked his head back when the beverage made contact with his lips, sloshing some of it down his shirt and tie. An angry, "Shit!" escaped his lips and he slammed the full mug down on the counter with more force than necessary, so that it toppled over, the lid popped off and the light brown contents spilled everywhere.

Joan only watched him at first, but now she had to butt into this mini-crisis. "Adam, slow down."

"Don't tell me to slow down, I'm already late!"

"I know, but this is counterproductive," she said as she tried to calm him down. She refilled his travel mug and wiped its outside clean, handing it to as she told him, "I'll get you another shirt and tie. Just sit down for a minute and drink your coffee. Another five minutes is not gonna kill you."

He looked at the clock on the wall, resigning to his fate. "Fine."

She returned with a light blue shirt and a silky tie with diagonal dark and light blue stripes. It went very well with the shirt and the dark gray suit he was wearing. He looked so much more formal than she was used to, than he usually dressed for work. He changed into the clean clothes and grabbed his coffee, handing Joan the dirty laundry.

"What, I'm your maid now?" she joked.

But he didn't seem to even notice. "I gotta run." He gave her a short, sharp kiss.

"Will you call me at work after the meeting?" she asked.

"I'll try, but I can't promise," he answered, already halfway out the door.

When she heard the door closing, she sighed. How long was this gonna go on?

* * *

He did call after the meeting. Long after the meeting. It was just around half past three when she finally heard his voice through the receiver. And it had been yet another hectic exchange with lots of noises in the background on his end. "I gotta go," he told her after five minutes of meaningless banter. "Another crisis meeting. I'll see you tonight." Those were his last words before he hung up. She hadn't even had the chance to ask when he would be home.

The house was quiet when she carried the grocery bags inside and placed them on the kitchen counter. That was to be expected, she didn't think he would be home, not with this deadline they were working against. The deadline he had told her would be up today. She prayed that things would slow down from today on. Tomorrow was Saturday and maybe they could finally have a whole day together. Hell, she'd even take a few hours with him alone, it had been that long since they actually spent time together when he wasn't dead tired or in a rush. She could just barely recall the last time they had sex.

She put the groceries away after changing into more comfortable clothes and started cutting the vegetables she had bought. She hoped Adam would be home in time for dinner. If not, there was always the microwave.

Adam_wasn't_ home for dinner. So she ate alone once again, staring at the cordless phone, trying to decide whether to call him or not. The angry and disappointed knot in her stomach told her not to, because _he_ should be the one calling her, telling her he wouldn't be home for dinner tonight. The part of her that felt lonely and out of touch wanted to call him, just to hear his voice, to see how he was holding up. Just as she was about to dial the number, she heard the front door open. Ten past eight. _Oooh, early_, she mused sarcastically. Maybe they did finally make their deadline.

She got up to meet him at the door. "Hey," she said neutrally. "You just missed dinner."

"I'm sorry," he told her. He sounded tired. "I tried to get out as early as I could. I told Henry you'd kill me if I didn't get home before eight. He finally caved and let me go." He smiled at her, hoping she wouldn't be too mad.

Joan couldn't really give him an honest smile back, she was still too fed up, even though she was glad he was finally home. But when she looked at him again and their eyes met, there was that spark of the familiar, long-missed connection. She couldn't help but melt into his arms, giving him a kiss. They both deepened it, more and more, their tongues teasing each other until they finally, breathlessly separated.

His smile was genuine now. "So you missed me, huh?"

"You have no idea. Come on, I'll warm you up some dinner."

Adam was scraping the last remains of his chocolate and raspberry whip out of the plastic container when Joan touched upon the subject of their weekend plans. He had carefully avoided talking about that during dinner, but he knew she would eventually ask the question he was dreading all night.

Almost dreamily, she suggested, "So, how about we sleep in tomorrow, then go out to The Local for breakfast, or brunch, or whatever. And theeeeen," she dragged out the vowel as if she was just making this up—and maybe she was, "we go to After Hours to look at tuxes. You'll need new shoes too."

He sighed. "Jane, it's a little early to start that, isn't it? The wedding is months away."

"I know," she said cheerily. "But I need to get an idea of what's out there before Mom starts bugging me about picking out my dress. There are so many styles of tuxes nowadays. We need to be coordinated."

"I don't know. Can't we wait till all this is over?"

"OK, you don't wanna go window shopping, we can do something else." Her face suddenly lit up. "Oh! I know! We'll get a day pass for The Blue Lagoon. They opened this whole new sauna area the other week, Lydia said it was fantastic. We could do a practice run in the Jacuzzi." She beamed at him.

He didn't smile back. "Jane..." he started, sounding much too serious, "I hate to break it to you, but I gotta work tomorrow."

Her face fell. "No," she said, as if it was her prerogative to forbid him to work. "You've worked like a madman all week. You can't go on like this."

"Jane—"

But she interrupted him. "What about the deadline? You said it was up today, you promised me things would slow down after that."

His voice rose as he replied, "I never promised anything. They keep postponing the deadline, I gotta get this ready by end of business Monday."

"Yeah, so have your interns come in tomorrow, or your colleagues. Why do you have to take on all this on your own?"

"You don't understand," he said, his eyes narrowing. "This is a really big thing, a lot depends on us getting it off the ground."

She wanted to understand, she really did, but she had been looking forward to a slow, loving weekend with her fiancé—which he had just torn to shreds. "Look, I can see how this might be important, but you're gonna burn yourself out. When's the last time you had more than five hours of sleep? When is the last time you just relaxed for even an hour? You've been going full bore for a week now. It's like you only come home to eat and sleep, barely that. I think you need to take it easy, for just one day. Can't you work from home tomorrow?"

He sighed. It was time she knew what was really going on. He hadn't told her because he didn't want to jinx it. Also, it would've been nice to talk about it in a more relaxed setting, where they could enjoy the good news together. Too late for that now. "Jane... Henry offered to make me partner if things work out with this deal. It's a lot more money, and come on, _partner, _at 22. Don't you see? I need to give my best right now to make that happen. So, no, I don't think I can work from home tomorrow."

"I want that for you." She did. And she tried to smile for him, but somehow the thought made her want to cry. Was this what it would be like from now on? Never seeing him except when he was dead tired or stressed to the gills? "So you're gonna work the whole day tomorrow and Sunday too," she quietly said.

"Probably," he said with a troubled sigh, bothered more than he wanted to admit by her lack of enthusiasm at the idea of this huge promotion.

"Okay, so I'm on my own then. I'll handle the weekend chores by myself, keep myself entertained." She didn't mean for it to sound so bitter, but it did.

Adam finally blew up. "What do you want me to do?" he shouted like he hadn't done since that horrible meltdown. His eyes widened, grew a shade darker as his anger mounted. "I'm sorry that I don't have a nine to five job like you do. As much as I'd like to, I can't just drop my pen at five every day and go home!"

She swallowed. He wasn't being fair, and they both knew it. But neither was she, because she should know better than to berate him for wanting to do his job so well that he was in line for a promotion, even if it meant putting _them_ on hold for a while. They were just way past the point of making any sense of anything at the moment.

And she felt very tired. Tired of this argument, of them not being able to connect, of them hanging by a thread all week. "I don't think we should talk about this anymore right now," she quietly said, as her breath hitched in her throat. She got up from the table and left him in the kitchen.

They didn't talk again the whole evening, not even in bed. She didn't see him all day on Saturday either. He was already gone when she woke up. Sometime over a breakfast of cheese grits, comfort food made like her mom taught her, she decided that she was not going to sit around feeling sorry for herself all weekend. Why shouldn't she get together with her girlfriends, have a day out? So Adam chose getting miserable at work; she was going to have some fun. She didn't call him and she didn't answer her cell when he called her. He must have gotten the message because he didn't try calling again after she rejected his call twice.

She got home in the late afternoon with two bags of new clothes and in a better mood than she thought possible. There was something to be said for frustration compensation shopping. She barely had time to cut the price tags off anything before her cell phone rang again. It was Lydia, asking if she and Adam wanted to join her and some other friends at O'Herlihy's. Joan explained that Adam couldn't come, but she was certainly game.

When it came to the subject of designated drivers and transportation, Lydia offered Joan the use of her guest room if she wanted to drink. Joan accepted. It wasn't just for safety, though. She didn't want to face tired, crabby Adam whenever he finally dragged it home. She knew it was kind of mean to just not go home, but that didn't change her mind.

So she left a note for Adam, explaining where she was and that she'd be home some time on Sunday. She made it a point to keep it matter-of-fact. Of course it occurred to her that he might be put off by it, but she also thought he deserved it. At least a little. Or did he? She quickly pushed the guilty feeling away to the back of her mind.

* * *

Joan came back to the house around half past ten the next morning. She was surprised to find Adam home, in his pajamas. He looked at her once, then wordlessly went back into the kitchen. She followed him, already regretting having just taken off without telling him first.

She stood cautiously in the doorway, watching him put away the dishes he had obviously just cleaned. "You're not working today?" she carefully asked.

"Not yet," he simply said.

"So you're going to." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I'm—"

At that moment, the phone rang. Adam took it as a welcome distraction to not have to go through this conversation again. Thinking it might be work, he pushed past her to pick up phone. "Hello?"

Joan looked down at her hands, wondering if she was supposed to leave the room or something. "Whoa, slow down, slow down," he said. She had no idea who he was talking to, but his tone unnerved her. Something was clearly wrong somewhere.

There was a moment's silence, then, "Karen, easy, take a breath and tell me what happened." Adam took the phone into the living room with him and sat down on the couch, pressing the receiver closer to his ear. Joan leaned on the kitchen door frame and frowned. Had something happened to Karen or to Grace? She was suddenly frozen to her spot.

She couldn't really tell what was going on, because all Adam did was a lot of quiet listening, which was so totally Adam that her heart welled for a second. He spoke soothingly to Karen with gently encouraging words, "Okay," and "Um-hm," "Of course," and "Sure." He finished the call with, "Okay, I... Look, I need to run by the studio to do this one thing and I'll go by there, okay? Yeah, I'll call you."

When he hung up, he found Joan looking at him, with worry and inquiry. "Did something happen to Grace? Or her mom?"

"No. Well, yeah, there's some problems with her mother, but it's more like Grace and Karen had a big fight. I don't really know what happened, but Karen says Grace is pretty messed up."

"Anything I can do?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm gonna check in on her as soon as I can break away."

It sounded like, 'Don't bother, I've got it covered,' to her. And the bitterness was back in her voice when she accused him, "Okay, so when I need you and miss you, you have to work. But Karen calls and just like that you're off to rescue Grace?"

She read confusion on his face, and resentment. He was clearly taken aback by that assessment. But his voice stayed low and quiet. "Jane, you're really not being fair."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm not, but that's what it feels like. What happened to the deadline? What happened to I-want-to-give-my-best-to-make-partner?"

His voice rose in volume along with hers. "Okay, Joan, here's what happened. We got most of the work done yesterday. I worked all night till well past midnight, just so I could finish up with the most important things and we could at least spend this afternoon together. But then I come home to find you gone. Without a phone call, just a fucking scribbled note on the kitchen table. And now, believe it or not, it sounds like Grace needs me more than you do."

That hurt. Even more so because she knew it hadn't been right to just stay away for the night without telling him before the fact. She looked down, not willing to meet his gaze, to admit he had a point. "Yeah," she finally sighed in meager answer. "She probably does."

He got up from the couch, going upstairs. "Glad you can see that."

Five minutes later he came downstairs, dressed and ready to go. "I'll be at the studio for a while, do only what I have to, and then I'm going to Grace's. Call my cell if there's anything urgent."

She just nodded and watched him leave the house. For a moment, she thought she might burst into tears. But then it occurred to her that Karen must've been crying just then as she talked to Adam. He was being so tender with her. It gave her pause when she realized that she had just given him shit for one of the things she loved most about him, his remarkable empathy. Still, it hurt her that he seemed to be directing it toward everyone in the world but her.

She reached for the phone, wondering if Karen might be going through something similar.

* * *

"Grace, open up!" Adam called out, knocking on Grace's apartment door again. "I know you're home," he tried again.

"Go away, Rove," came her muffled voice from behind the locked door that stood between them.

"You know I can't," he told her.

"Oh, you totally can, dude."

"Grace... The Pact."

"No you don't. That was like a hundred years ago."

"I don't remember anything about an expiration date."

"Who the hell says I need you?"

"Do we really have to say it?"

A moment later, the lock was unfastened and the door opened. A sullen looking Grace was standing there, muttering, "You are a damn nuisance."

He almost smiled. "So are you. Can I come in?"

"Well, that's a stupid question after you've been banging on my door for the last five minutes."

He stepped in, following Grace into the living room. Before she could sit down on the couch, where she had obviously been before—considering the blanket and the soda and the giant bag of chips—he told her, "Put on some shoes and a jacket. You're coming with me."

She eyed him with confusion, his words not sinking in at first. "What?"

"You heard me. Get dressed, we're leaving."

"Says who? Last time I checked, there was such a thing as free will."

Adam grew more serious. "I really want you to go someplace with me."

"Like where?"

"You'll see."

Grace sighed. "All right... But only because it's you."

He just nodded and waited for her to get ready. That was a little easier than he thought would be. He kind of surprised himself with bringing up The Pact, though. Even more surprised that she didn't crush him for it. After all, the first rule of The Pact was that you don't talk about The Pact. The second rule about The Pact...

The drive to his neighborhood was quiet. Probably one of the reasons they got along so well. Grace could be just as monosyllabic as he could. Especially when there was something big hovering over her. Like now.

When they were kids they had walked from Adam's house, but these days, Grace lived in another part of town. He knew she must have realized where they were going, it was just as familiar to her as it was to him. He parked the car on the side of the road and they both got out. "You're not gonna take me in there, are you?"

She was alluding to the termination point of the sewers that spilled into the stream, the place where they had gone as kids, folding paper boats and floating them down the smelly stream of water that offered both comfort and distance from all the shit in both their lives back then.

"No, don't worry," he chuckled and steered her to the concrete ledge that overlooked the sewer pipes. He sat down on it, his legs dangling over the side. Grace sat down wordlessly beside him.

They didn't speak for what seemed like a small eternity, taking comfort in the soft burble of the water coming out of the sewers.

"Did Karen put you up to this?" Grace finally asked. Adam remembered asking almost that exact same question when Joan had called her for help when had his crisis.

"No," he replied honestly. "_You_ put me up to this."

"Oh yeah?" she said sarcastically. "I don't remember asking you to bring me here."

"We did it right here. We made The Pact right here. It was your idea, Grace. You said, anytime you need me, I'm there. And you'll do the same for me. We agreed on that." He tried not fall back into melancholy when he thought back to how The Pact had come about. It had been the day after his mother died, the day that Grace had dragged him out here for the first time.

Grace looked over the wall, down at the stream, avoiding his scrutiny.

"We promised," Adam whispered, drawing her eyes back to him.

Finally, she nodded a little.

"Grace, you need to talk to her."

"Who? My mother? Yeah, like _that's_ gonna help."

"I'm not talking about your mother. I'm talking about Karen."

"Not happening right now. We kind of had this huge, like, major falling out."

"Doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter? What are you talking about?"

"She understands. You know, it's okay to be scared—"

"Rove, you are seriously treading—"

"Grace, it's okay. Just listen to me. When I lost it back in the summer, Joan got me talking about the day my mom died. And I remember you that day. You were so strong. You held me together. And I know how scared you were. You could never fool me. And I get why you shut down. I'm guilty of that too. But you gotta know that when people love you, it's okay for them to know that you're scared."

When he looked at her, he was surprised to find her eyes brimming with tears. He sighed. Sometimes it was hard to breach Grace's defenses of sarcasm and cynicism, but none of that was present now. She had to look away and focus on the water for a while to regain her composure.

"Look, I'm not trying to tell you how to run your life or your relationship, because, heh," he snorted dismissively, "I sure don't have the rulebook down. But she loves you, Grace. She loves you the way you are, and if you're afraid to talk to her because you think you'll make her turn away from you, forget it. That's not gonna happen. Sometimes you just have to give in and let someone take care of you."

She laughed through her tearful impulse and bumped his shoulder with hers. "Cut the sappy crap, Rove."

He only smiled. "Do you love her?"

The simple question hung in the air without an answer for a moment.

"Yes," she finally said.

"Then what are you so afraid of?"

She shrugged. Hell, she hadn't really figured that out yet. She wasn't literally worried that she'd wreck things with Karen by letting it all out with her. It was more like she was just used to dealing with her problems on her own and she really had no idea how to articulate them.

"How bad is it with your mom this time?"

She breathed in and out once. "Pretty bad."

"Passing out-bad?"

"Pretty much."

"What are you gonna do?"

Grace's head came up, looking him squarely in the eyes. "What can I do? We've been through it all before. I don't think there's anything I can do that'll make a difference anymore."

"You know that's bullshit," he told her. She just lowered her head, but he pressed on. "It's not like I know your mom that well, but I know about wanting to give up and I know about lost opportunities..." he let the weight of the concept sink in with her. "Don't you think you should try? Because if you don't, one day it'll be too late, and you'll be questioning your decisions for the rest of your life."

Yeah, he certainly knew what he was talking about there, survivor's guilt, she was only too aware of that. Before she could reply, she heard his low but determined voice again. "You're not gonna do this alone. I'm right here, Joan's right here, and Karen's just waiting for you to let her help you."

"What can any of you possibly do?"

"Anything you need."

Grace sighed heavily. "I just need her to stop. Can you do that?"

"No... Can you get her into detox?"

"At this point, I think, only by force."

"If that's what it takes."

"Rove, no... I can't... I can't watch them drag her off like that. Not again."

He nodded. "Have you talked to her about why she relapsed? There must be a reason, right?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. "

"Then make it your business to know."

"Easy for you to say."

"Never said it would be easy. It's probably gonna get ugly before it gets any better." He paused for a moment before he went on. "It kinda... reminds me of those letters I found in the summer. About Dad trying to have Mom admitted to the hospital to get her on some new treatment. And she just refused. It was so hard on my dad. They really fell apart there for a while. I mean, you know what happened between them."

He had told her about the letter from his mom to his dad that had shaken up his world. "And I think he... he kinda gave up trying after a while. And I can't help thinking that if he'd just kept an eye on the signs, he might have seen what was going on, he might have been able to..." He stopped there, picking at a few crumbs of dry dirt between his thighs.

She knew what he was trying to say, and it hit too close to home. But maybe that was a good thing. As hard as it was to watch her mom sliding into the old drinking habit, she didn't want to consider what it would do to her and her father if she didn't make it, if her mother kept going until it destroyed her completely.

When she didn't speak, he looked at her, asking, "What about your dad?"

"I think he's kinda given up on her too. He just doesn't have the strength anymore. It's a constant struggle. You always have to babysit her if you want her to stay sober. You tear the house apart, looking for her latest hiding places. You have to watch her if you go out. And she'll cry like a baby, begging for a drink."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I don't know."

"You have to get her some help."

"Even if we could get her in, it does no good. She won't cooperate with the treatment. She refuses to go to group, won't keep a journal, clams up in one on one therapy sessions. Then there's the detox process itself. She goes through the physical shit, the shaking, the vomiting, nights sweats. You have no idea what it's like... And it's all for nothing because she's 'too smart to let them break her'."

Like mother, like daughter, he thought. But he would never say it. He was sure she knew that anyway on some level. He didn't allow himself to think much about all the stuff Grace had already been through with her mother over the years. It was too much. No wonder she seemed so tired and hopeless, facing it yet again. He suddenly felt guilty for not having been there to help her through it, as they had promised to always be. But how could he, if she would never let anyone in? He was going to put a stop to that right now.

"Grace, there must be something you can do, _we_ can do. Please talk to Karen, talk to Joan. I know Joan has connections to support groups and psychiatric help and things like that through work. If you just stand by and watch, it's only gonna get worse. You have all these great friends out there with resources who wanna help, so let them."

When he met Grace's eyes, he could see the faintest hint of tears shimmering in them again. He was so relieved to have breached her hard shell and touched her soft core.

He got his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, pulled up Karen's number and handed the phone to Grace. "Take your time, I'll wait by the car." He walked away, slowly making his way back to the Forester. He lingered near the passenger side door, leaning his back against it, feeling the autumn sun warm on his face. Grace was still sitting on the wall where he had left her, staring at his cell phone. "Come on, do it," he muttered. He watched her finally push the dial button and hold the phone to her ear. It was a good first step, a big one for Grace. He was sure Karen would support her any way she could, so maybe the next step wouldn't be as hard.

It never left him that as much as the relationships around Grace needed fixing, his own did too, at least to some extent. Joan hadn't called him after he left the house, probably still mad. The thing was that he didn't think he was wrong in all of this. Maybe he could have handled some of their last conversation a little more delicately, but he was only human and quite often completely flummoxed in the heat of the moment. But he'd cooled off and he could only hope that Joan had too. He hung on to that hope, not wanting to go home to the cool hostility that had been in the air when he left.

He saw that Grace had finished the phone call and was now walking toward him and the car. Adam got in on the driver's side, she on the passenger's, handing him his phone back wordlessly. When he pulled out into the road, he asked, "So?"

"So we have a lot to talk about."

"You want me to drop you off at her place?"

"Yeah," Grace said simply.

Adam nodded and touched her shoulder briefly, glad that she would allow him that.

When he stopped the car in front of the house where Karen rented an apartment, Grace lingered in her seat a moment. She popped open the door as if she needed to escape, but she didn't move.

He watched her. "Please call me if you wanna talk or you need anything—"

"Adam," she said softly, smiling at him. "I get it. Thanks... for, you know..." she mumbled.

He was shocked when she gave him a quick, tight hug. Then she got out of the car without looking back.

"Give Karen my best," he said.

"Sure." And then the door fell back into its lock and he watched Grace walk up the driveway to the house.

He knew Karen would welcome her back with open arms. He sighed when he realized he actually dreaded going home to Joan. Would she welcome him back with open arms?

Only one way to find out. He cranked up the motor and drove, his mind already working on ways to make up for his part in wrecking the past week.

* * *

Standing in front of their house, he knocked on the door.

Joan was mildly surprised to see him standing on the porch when she opened the door. Before she could ask if he had forgotten his keys, he produced the bouquet of luscious red and yellow tulips from behind his back and held them up in front of his chest.

"Is this Alexander Drive number 44? I have a delivery for a... Joan Girardi."

Her mouth slowly formed into a grin. "You know how to push my buttons," she said.

"Yeah, well, apparently not well enough, otherwise I wouldn't have to be standing here with flowers. Can I come in?"

"Did you eat a clown for lunch? You live here, remember?"

He furrowed his brow at that weird image as he stepped in with her. "Lately it seems like I live more in the studio than I do here. For the record, Jane, I hate this as much as you do."

"You know we need to talk about it." She said as she went to the kitchen to look for something to put the flowers in and he followed her.

His face immediately grew stern. He sat down at the table. "Yeah."

She stood at the counter, leaning her back and hands against it, looking at him. "I, um... I know I've been maybe a little... unfair. And impatient. And inconsiderate. It's just... I miss you so much, and I hate it when we don't connect and you know... we just haven't, for so long. You're barely home and when you are, you're so tired and burnt out and I guess... I just can't deal with that so well."

His eyes were attentive on her when he quietly said, "Yeah, well, maybe I should have told you what was going on."

"What do you mean?"

"About the deadline, how they keep postponing it, the demands they're making. Just how important this all is. I think for some reason you had the idea that I was the only one putting in this much work. Everyone at the studio's been crazy. You think things are bad for me, you should see Henry. We're all pushing the limit."

She couldn't say it. She didn't want to put a damper on things for him. She shouldn't utter her biggest fear. But she had to. "And when you're a partner, like Henry, will it always be like this?'"

"God no," he quickly responded. "When I'm partner, I'll change everything. I'll make the interns do all the shit work I've had to do on this project. I'll be able to make executive decisions that'll save us time. Don't even get me started on that."

"How 'bout an executive decision right now?"

"Like what?"

"No more working today."

He nodded slowly, like it was a revelation. "Yeah. I'm done for today."

She wrapped her arms around him and he did the same to her, kissing the top of her head. "Thank you."

"Of course I have to go back tomorrow, but if the deadline holds this time, I might even make it home for dinner."

"Awesome." She smiled at him. It sounded like normalcy would make a return to their lives sooner or later. She hoped it would be sooner rather than later. "So, how'd it go with Grace?"

"She's got some rough stuff ahead of her." Adam told her how he suggested that Grace contact her for advice about the best support groups around town. He told her why Grace had not being able to deal with it. He told her that she should probably not wait, to go ahead and call Grace, but not to push too hard, just see what questions she might have about her options. Joan was compassionate and a hundred percent supportive. Of course she was, Adam had expected nothing less.

He got up to get a glass of juice from the fridge, suddenly feeling thirsty. When he drained it and put it down on the counter, he could feel her gaze on him, longing in her eyes, which she expressed with words. "I really missed you."

He moved a step closer. "I missed you too. So much."

"Adam, do you remember the last time we had sex?"

He thought for a moment. "Vaguely. I remember it was good, though." He smiled at her.

"Has it ever not been?"

His smile widened. "My point." He wrapped his arms around her, sliding them down to her hips, pulling her close.

Joan looked dreamy suddenly. "You know, there's something you owe me."

"What?"

"Do you remember the body paint?"

His eyes glazed over. That was one of the most memorable times of their sex life as far as he was concerned. "There's no way I'd forget the body paint, Jane," he told her honestly as he pulled her to him and nuzzled her neck. "I remember that it was blue and tasted of vanilla. And there was—"

Her hands rested on his arms as she sighed happily and smiled. Then she pulled back a little, interrupting him. "Do you feel like experimenting with it tonight? On me?"

"I have to wait until tonight?"

She slipped her arms around his waist, kissing him very sensually but lightly on his soft lips. "Maybe not."

* * *


	23. November

_**Chapter 20**_  
**November**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

**Author's Note:**  
_How can we write a story about Adam and not talk about November? This one developed from multiple ideas and experiences and things Deb and I talked about. Because of course we need to write something that takes place in November if this is an Adam/Joan story. But it's not all mopey and depressing. Adam's growing up, he's becoming a more confident man, and that's how it should be. We're also briefly bringing back a character long forgotten that we felt should be mentioned again. _

_On a side note: If you have the Cranberries album "Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We", put it into your CD or MP3 player and listen to it while you're reading this._

**Summary:**  
_"November may come and go, but some memories always remain. November was bittersweet like sunshine through the rain." —Anam - November, lyrics by Brian Ó hEadhra_

_It's Adam and Joan's first November together, living under the same roof. And both are going through their own rough patches. But it's time for Adam to realize that November doesn't always have to be bad._

_**Rating:**PG-13 with some strong language_

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool._

* * *

He was already up when Joan awoke, she found Adam's side of the bed empty and cold. She had kind of expected that because she knew what day it was today. And she also knew she was going to try to make it more pleasant for him, as pleasant as she could. She quickly got dressed and ready and went downstairs. When she didn't find him in the kitchen, she guessed he might be in the shed. He had spent some time there last few days after work, and she didn't question him.

He had told her once how his mom had always asked him to make her something for her birthday, something personal. She wondered if he still did that, even after all these years. There was so much melancholy surrounding him in November, and it made her heart ache. But she was determined to help him through it as best as she could, so she went outside to the back patio where it was cool enough at this time of year to hide the surprise she had prepared for him inside the grill that they hadn't used in a month.

Bringing it inside, she put the Tupperware cake plate in the middle of the table and removed the lid before she went back out to see if he was in the shed.

She found him at the table with his head resting on his arms, fast asleep. She tried to suppress a smile but didn't quite succeed. She quietly walked up to him, lightly touching his shoulders, rubbing them slightly. When he opened his eyes slowly, she said, "Should I be worried that you find the shed more comfortable to sleep in than our bed?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Oh God, did I really fall asleep?" he asked, his voice thick.

"Looks like it." She looked around, searching for something he might have done, might have built. Somehow she had expected him to be working on one of his sculptures. He had been working a lot with metal plating lately, forming these sophisticated and slightly bizarre but rather beautiful constructs that gleamed in silvery or golden shades.

"Can I ask what you've been doing out here all this time?" she said carefully.

He withdrew a very small object and put it in the palm of his hand to show to her. She carefully picked it up and studied the intricate wire and metal structures, holding it up so she could see all the details. "Wow, that's really beautiful."

He just nodded slowly. She put it down on the table and touched his shoulder again. "When do you wanna go, before or after work?"

He looked up at her, slightly puzzled. "Go where?"

"To the cemetery."

The surprise was clearly visible in his face. "So you remembered."

"Yes, of course I remembered," she said in a low voice. "Come on, let me show you something."

She took his hand and tugged at it, indicating he should follow her, which he did. She led him into the kitchen, stopping in front of the table with the round strawberry cream cake. She had made it a point to draw the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY on the icing in red letters. She pondered writing something more meaningful first, but then she thought it best to keep it simple.

Adam eyes widened. "Jane. For my mom?"

She smiled at him. "Yeah. Since she can't be here with us, I thought we should at least celebrate her birthday for her."

He didn't know what to say. Tears shimmered in his eyes as Joan went on. "You're always so sad in November, and you have every right to be. But her birthday shouldn't be a sad time, should it? I thought maybe we could try to make it a happier day. Wouldn't that be a nice change? And every good birthday party needs a birthday cake."

"We're having a party?"

"No. I mean, not really. I asked Grace and Karen to come over tonight. I hope that's okay," she asked tentatively.

He thought for a minute, then nodded. "Yeah, sure." He looked at her for a long moment. "Are you coming with me to the cemetery?"

"Of course, if you want me to."

He put one arm around her waist and drew her to him. "I want you to."

She nodded. "Then I'm coming with you."

* * *

He was holding her hand as they stood in front of Elizabeth Rove's grave in the fading daylight. He was smiling, admiring the miniature sculpture he had placed in the grass in front of the headstone.

"I think this is the first time I've come here for her birthday and not cried," he admitted.

Joan gave him a small smile. "That's good, right?"

"Yeah, that's good." He met her eyes as he said in a low voice, "Thank you. So much. For this day. For everything."

"Don't thank me. I love you. I don't want you to be sad. I'll do anything in my power to prevent it."

"How did I ever get to be so lucky?"

"Hey, I could ask the same question. Do you wanna stay a while longer?"

He turned to her. "No. I think Mom would be happy now. She's got her birthday present, we'll have a piece of cake for her later. She's seen how happy we are, how lucky I am to have you." He looked at his father's headstone, next to Elizabeth's. "Sometimes I wish I knew for sure that they're together now, that there's something like an afterlife, you know?"

"I'm sure they're in a better place—together. God would've taken care of that."

He gave her a quick kiss and then smiled. "You'd kick His ass if He didn't, right?"

"Oh, you bet!"

They laughed a little as he took a step to the side to stand in front of Carl's grave. She lingered next to him in silence for a while before she excused herself to give him some space, which he gladly accepted.

A few minutes later, he turned around and walked up to Joan. She was glad to see that there was a hopeful expression on his face, that he didn't seem as melancholic as she had thought he might on this day, in this place.

She took his hand and said, "There's someone else we should visit."

Yes. There was Judith, buried here in the same graveyard. He suddenly felt kind of guilty. He didn't stop by her grave often enough, and he did visit this cemetery every now and then.

Hand in hand, they approached Judith's headstone, stopping in front of it. Joan started speaking, even though she felt silly talking to thin air. "Hey Judith. I know, it's been a while, but you probably know that we've been busy. And I can just see you nodding knowingly, maybe frowning a little. Yeah, Adam and me." She looked at him. "I mean, it's totally weird, right? After all that happened... all these years. But believe it or not, we're gonna get married.

"It's such a shame that you can't be here with us for that. Well, maybe you kind of are in your own way. I mean, I really hope you are. Man, I'm rambling." She looked at him again, a bit self-conscious, but going on anyway. "I really miss you sometimes, and I hope you're having fun, wherever you are. And even if I don't come here too often, I still think of you. _We_ still think of you." She squeezed his hand for confirmation. "Right?"

"Yeah," he said in a low voice. "Just the other day, I found that painting of you that I did in school." He met Joan's eyes. "Actually, I thought maybe we could put it up somewhere in the house, now that everything is set up."

She nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great, I'd love that. See, Judith, you'll always be in our house." She laughed, then turned to him. "Just don't put it up in our bedroom. We wouldn't want her watching us, would we?" she asked.

He actually looked embarrassed. "Uh. No." Then he laughed too.

She gave him a slight nudge in the ribs. "Come on, let's go. We have cake waiting for us and guests arriving soon." In the direction of the headstone, she said, "Well, bye then, old friend. Take care and behave!"

She and Adam walked toward the car. As they did, he said, "I hadn't visited Judith in long time. I think I need to remember to stop by a little more often."

"Yeah, me too," she admitted. "Hey, uhm... Can I ask you something?"

He nodded and looked at her. "Sure."

"You and Judith, you never really hit it off, did you? It took you a long time to be comfortable around her."

"Yeah, I..." He didn't know where to start. "Maybe I was a little overwhelmed by her. She came on like a steamroller when she first showed up at our school. And you guys were so inseparable, you were like sisters. You called yourselves Joanith, remember that?"

The memory made Joan smile sadly and she nodded.

"I just felt kinda pushed aside, but it was only because I didn't know her."

She remained quiet for a moment. "Maybe... I didn't exactly make it easy either. You must have been a little jealous, right? She was suddenly my new best friend and all."

"Yeah, maybe I was. But she also scared me a little. She seemed to like making trouble. She was hell-bent on getting people's attention, no matter whether she got hurt, or hurt someone else in the process. I guess I just didn't wanna get dragged into that, or see you dragged into it."

"What really sucks is that you were right. I just couldn't see it at the time. I just thought, hey, teenagers do some pretty stupid stuff. No big deal."

"Like almost dying from alcohol poisoning?" He hadn't meant to utter such a sharp and stinging remark, and he was sorry immediately. In a softer voice he quickly added, "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant to say. I know she was a good person. She was just a little... lost. I, I mean... way more than the rest of us. I'm not saying that it was her fault that she got killed, but she didn't try awfully hard to prevent it, did she?"

Joan was trying to think rationally about his rather blunt assessment. "Yeah, you're kinda right about that. But is it really fair to say that she basically threw herself on the knife? You don't really think she meant to get killed, do you?"

"No, I'm not saying that."

"Well, what then? The night she died," she went on, "you said something to me. You said some people kill themselves all at once, and some do it a little bit at a time. Do you really think that's what she was doing?"

He sighed. "Jane, I honestly don't know. It did seem sometimes like she couldn't care less if she got hurt, like she had a death wish or something. Isn't that a little like suicide?"

"I think there's a difference between being a reckless kid and being suicidal."

"Yeah, maybe. And, you know, it's not that I didn't like her. Once I got to know her a little better, I really thought that I could. But I also knew that she was messed up and really needed help. Only back then, I had no idea how to help her."

She looked at him. "We were all just kids, what could we do? You're not saying you feel responsible for her death in some way?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe a little. Because I kind of saw the signs but I didn't know what to do."

"I never knew you felt that way."

"Well, I haven't thought about it in a long time."

"And you shouldn't. What happened was not your fault"

He sighed. "Yeah, I know, but... don't you feel that way sometimes?"

She looked down at her feet before admitting, "Yeah, kinda. I guess everyone who watched it happen does. But we did what we could at the time. We were her friends."

He nodded sadly.

"You know, Judith would totally be laughing at us right now, telling us to stop dwelling on something we can't do anything about."

After a moment's silence, he asked her, "Remember how she said you saved her life once?"

She looked at him, her eyes growing a little wider. "Yes, I remember that."

"I think it was about summer camp where you met. I'm not sure exactly what she meant, but I guess she saw it as a blessing that she got to know you."

Suddenly, tears shimmered in Joan's eyes. "Yeah, well, it didn't help much in the end, did it?"

He slid his arm around her waist and kissed her very softly on the temple as he drew her closer. "Jane," he said just above a whisper. "I'm sure you enriched her life in so many ways, even if it was only for a short time. At least she knew she had one person who really cared about her."

"She knew?"

"She knew. I'm sure of it. Everything else, what happened to her and all, maybe that was just beyond our control."

"Maybe."

"Listen, you taught me not to dwell on what-ifs. I don't want you to either."

She gave him a brave smile. "You're right. We have a birthday to celebrate, don't we? Aren't you looking forward to that strawberry cream cake?"

He smiled back at her as they approached his Forester. "Now that's the spirit."

* * *

"You know," Karen said with her mouth full of cake, "this tastes heavenly."

Joan smiled at her, enjoying the compliment. She looked over at Grace, who was chewing away on the last remains of her piece of cake, clearly enjoying it too. Adam had already finished his.

They casually grouped themselves around the dining table and talked about what had been going on with them the last two weeks that they hadn't been in touch. Surprisingly, Grace was the one to ask if Adam had gone to the cemetery. He told her about their visit to see Elizabeth and Carl. Joan was pleasantly touched that he didn't seem too sad when he spoke about his parents. Maybe this year, this November, had been a turning point.

"Oh, Rove?" Grace looked at him. "Have you heard about that Bodies exhibition coming to town?"

He raised his eyebrows. "That's still around? I saw some news item about it years ago."

"Yeah. It's been making the rounds for years but the guy is taking it all to new levels. It's so creepy. They say you're either fascinated or appalled by it. I'm halfway between interested and disgusted, and I can't really decide whether I wanna go or not."

An animated discussion about the plasticized dead bodies exhibition ensued as Karen told them about how some friends of hers had already seen it and Adam and Grace went on about the things they'd heard about it. No one really noticed that Joan hadn't contributed to the conversation. When the chatter died down, Adam finally looked at her.

"You're awfully quiet. You all right?"

Joan looked at him. "Hm?" she said, as if he had just woken her from a trance. "It's just... I have a bit of a headache. I should probably take an aspirin or something." She got up from her chair and went to the bathroom to do so.

When she came back, Karen met her eyes. "You know, we can take off if you're not feeling well."

Joan gave her a confident smile. "Don't be silly. It's just a headache."

Karen nodded and they went on discussing the new Peter Jackson movie that was coming out the next week. But Karen could tell Joan really wasn't feeling well so she and Grace excused themselves after another twenty minutes. Joan breathed a small but silent sigh of relief, because the aspirin hadn't done much in terms of pain relief. She really looked forward to just vegging on the couch or going to bed early.

Adam saw Grace and Karen to the door, and when he came back to where Joan was clearing away the dishes in the kitchen, he looked at her with a bit of a worried frown. "Jane, you feeling all right?"

"Do I look that shitty?"

He smiled and softly wrapped his arms around her from behind and whispered with his mouth close to her ear, "You're always beautiful to me."

But her reply was more serious than he had expected. "Actually, I feel... I don't know how I feel. I have a headache and I... just wanna collapse somewhere and not move for the rest of the night. I don't know why, because we really haven't done anything exhausting today, right? Maybe I'm coming down with something."

He disentangled himself from her and gently took the plates from her hands, carrying them over to the sink before turning to her. "Go stretch out on the couch. I'll take care of this."

She gave him a smile. "Thank you." She touched his shoulder affectionately before she left for the living room.

Half an hour later, when he finished washing up and the kitchen was back in its original state, he found her lying on the couch beneath a blanket, clearly having dozed off. Maybe she would be better off in bed, getting a good night's sleep, even though it was not even 9 PM.

He kneeled down next to the couch and softly stroked a strand of hair from her face near the temple. She stirred and opened her eyes.

"Jane, you should go to bed and get some rest."

"Uhm-hm," she mumbled, too sleepy to move.

When she didn't stir, he drew the blanket lightly from her shoulders. "Come on," he softly prodded.

"I just don't wanna move," she mumbled.

"Well, then I guess we'll have to move you," he said a little mischievously.

"Don't you dare," she growled at him.

But he surprised her by getting up and putting one arm below her knees and the other around her shoulder lifting her off the couch with less effort than she had expected. The blanket slipped off her as he did so. "Hey," she protested, "That's so not necessary. I can walk on my own," she now laughed a little.

"Okay, prove it." He let her down gently.

She stood steadfast on her legs and walked to the stairs. "See?"

He followed her upstairs and went into the guest room to check his email on the computer they had set up on a desk in the corner. When he came into the bedroom later, he found her lying in bed with the covers drawn up. "You need anything? Tea or water or juice?" he asked her.

"No, I think I just wanna sleep. Did you finish up in the kitchen?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it."

"Are you gonna come to bed too?"

He pointed in the general direction of the guest room. "I have a couple of e-mails I wanna answer. Kate sent a couple of pics of her little ones and there's this guy who's running an imaging website who's been asking about some of my stuff. I'll join you in a while."

She nodded. "Uhm-hm."

He bent down to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. "Just go to sleep, you'll feel better in the morning."

"Yeah," she said, turning around to find a comfortable position to sleep in.

He lingered in the doorway for a while, looking at how her hair was spilling down over the pillow, trying not to worry too much about her being sick; after all she said she wasn't, right?

* * *

"Hey," he greeted her with a soft kiss on her forehead.

Joan made a sour face and mumbled, "Huhmmm."

She was lying on the couch with a blanket and her hot water bottle when Adam came home from work. And somehow, she noticed, he had an odor around him that told of fryer grease and grilled meat.

"You hungry? I brought gyros."

Ah, that would explain it. Yeah, she could eat something. "I guess," she replied half-heartedly. There was nothing wrong with her stomach.

He went into the kitchen with a plastic bag and came back later with two plates that had gyros and fries on them. He handed one to her.

She sat up with the blanket still around her legs, he sat down next to her. Balancing her plate on her thighs, she rubbed her tired, achy eyes. And he couldn't help but notice the gesture.

"You still not feeling better?" he asked worriedly.

She sighed. "I... don't know. Not really."

There was that concerned frown again, right there on his forehead. "Is it a cold or something, you think?"

"No," she said wearily. The truth was, she didn't really know what it was. But it was definitely not a cold, she didn't have a sore throat or a running nose. Just chills and headaches and no energy and no patience and no drive to do anything.

She picked up the gyros and was about to take a bite when she was stopped by a noxious odor. "Hey, there's onions all over this thing."

"There is? Are you sure? I asked for one without onions."

"_Yes_, I'm sure," she said impatiently. "Do you maybe have mine?"

He looked at his plate. His gyros was riddled with chopped onions as well. "No, mine has onions too."

She let the gyro drop to the plate and placed it on the couch table with a loud clang. "You _know_ I don't like onions."

He looked at her with that frown still on his brow. "You're not gonna eat the fries, at least?"

"No, they're all gooey and soft and greasy."

He drew in a long breath and placed his plate on the couch table as well. He turned around to face her a little better as he addressed her, trying not to sound irritated, "I'll put the fries in the toaster oven, so they'll get crispy again. I can pick the onions out of your gyro too."

"No, I'm not all that hungry. Don't worry about it."

He swallowed down his mounting irritation. "It's no trouble." He took her plate and went towards the kitchen.

She called after him, "Hey, yours is getting all cold. I don't want mine, really. Just leave it."

He came back with the plate and put it on the table once again. He was tired too, and, quite frankly, really hungry. "Fine," he said sharply. He picked up his plate and started to eat his now only lukewarm food. And, yes, she was right, the fries now _were_ all gooey and soft.

How had they ended up here? All he had wanted was to surprise her with her favorite dinner from Mykonos. Not his fault that the guy behind the counter was either deaf or unfocused or just plain stupid.

He ate his food in silence. She had leaned back against the couch, watching what looked like a rerun of an early Grey's Anatomy episode. What was wrong with them? With her? What could make her fall into this weird funk that she seemed to be in.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Could it maybe be...? No, they had been using contraception, she was on the pill. Wasn't she?

He put his half-eaten dinner away, looking at her. "Hey, can I ask you something?" he carefully addressed her.

She looked at him from the corners of her eyes. "What?"

Her tone of voice almost made him get up and say, 'Never mind.' But he fought against the impulse and made his voice gentle. "Could you be pregnant?"

"No. No, I'm not pregnant."

"How do you know?"

"I just had my period last week."

"Yeah, but that doesn't necessarily mean..." he trailed off.

"I'm not pregnant," she insisted. "I did a test," she admitted almost meekly.

"You did?"

"Yeah. I... I sorta thought the same thing at work today, so I ran by Wallgreens and picked one up. It was negative."

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. Were they ready for children at this point in their lives?

She looked him in the eyes, reading his mind, "You're relieved, aren't you? What if I _had_ been pregnant?"

"No," he said quickly. "I'm not relieved." _No lying this time,_he reminded himself. "OK... maybe I am. A little. I... I want to have kids with you Jane, one day. When we're ready. I want it to be a decision we make together. Don't you?"

She nodded. And then he had another rather disturbing thought. She did a test. She wondered too. And she was behaving so strangely. "Hey, uhm, did you..." He didn't know how to phrase what he was meaning to ask. "You are taking the pill, right?"

It took her a moment to register what he was asking. "Yes," she said sharply. "I'm taking the pill. Every night. The blister's lying right there on the shelf by the mirror, why don't you go and check? You know, it even has a little sticker with the weekdays on it, so you don't mix them up," she spat, the sarcasm now clearly evident in her voice.

"I didn't mean to say that you didn't—"

She interrupted him. "Oh no? Sure sounded like it."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, but you're so... not you. You're all crabby and miserable and I just don't know what do with you."

"You don't have to do anything with me. This'll pass."

_Yeah? When?_ he thought, but he didn't say it out loud. "Okay," he breathed out. "Okay, I'll just leave you to your TV show. I'll be at the computer, if you need me, all right?"

She gave him a look that wasn't friendly, but the fire in her eyes had gone now. She just nodded.

He almost reached over to touch her shoulder as he got up, but then thought the better of it. They were out of sync somehow, and he really didn't know how to handle that. Maybe physical contact was not what she wanted or needed right now. Maybe this would sort itself out. For now all he could do was wait and hope for the best.

* * *

"Hello?" Adam answered the phone. The familiar voice of Helen Girardi greeted him.

"Hi Adam. Is Joan there?"

"Well, she's... I'm not sure if she's asleep."

"Is she sick?" It was barely seven o'clock on Tuesday evening, so he could see how Helen might draw that conclusion.

"No. I mean, I don't think so," he sighed.

"But something's wrong with her?" Helen's voice sounded worried.

"No, no, at least not anything really obvious. It's just... She's just been somehow under the weather these past few days. Like she's coming down with something."

She was relieved to hear that. "Oh, well, then maybe you should just let her sleep. It wasn't that important anyway. How are _you_?"

He rubbed his forehead absently, then decided to be honest, breathing out a long breath. "Getting worried, actually."

"About Joan?"

"Yeah."

"What do you mean?" Helen inquired.

"I mean... She's been like this for two nights now."

"Like what?"

"Moody, crabby, chilly, listless, says she's got headaches on and off," he ticked off the symptoms he had witnessed and that Joan had told him about.

"But she's not sick, you say?"

"That's what she keeps telling me. She's not running a fever, at least." After a moment's hesitation, he volunteered, "And in case you were gonna ask, she's not pregnant either."

He could almost see Helen doing a double-take on the other end of the phone line, but she recovered quickly. "Adam, you're not exactly reassuring me here."

He sighed again. "I know. I just... I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be bothering you with this. She'll be fine. I'll make her see a doctor if she's not better by the end of the week."

"Don't be silly, I'm her mother. I wanna know when my baby's not well."

Yes, of course she did.

"Do you want me to come over?" she asked.

"Nah," he said. "I've got everything under control." He briefly wondered if Helen thought maybe chaos had ensued in the house with Joan not taking care of things.

"Did she stay home from work?" she asked.

"No, she hasn't missed any days. She keeps saying she's not really feeling sick, but not feeling well either. I just don't get it. She just seems so... exhausted. She fell asleep on me on the couch last night. I really want to do something to help her, but I don't know what."

"Honey, you are doing something. You're there for her, right? I think that's what she needs most of all. Just be there."

"Okay," he nodded. "I'll tell her you called when she wakes up. Should she call you back?"

"If she's up to it. And you call me if you need anything, will you?"

"Yes, of course."

"I'm sure it's nothing. Maybe she really is just coming down with a cold."

He wasn't sure if she was saying it out loud for him or for herself. "Yeah," he answered, not feeling very reassured.

He hung the portable phone back up in the kitchen and headed up to check on Joan.

She could hear him walking up the stairs and she groaned. She didn't know why, but the sheer though of being asked again if she was feeling better or if she needed anything or just making any kind of conversation made her want to turn over again and pretend she was asleep. She also knew it was completely illogical because it only meant that he cared about her and was worried about her.

When he peeked into the bedroom, she could see it all over his face. The frown on his forehead, his eyes darkened with concerned expectation.

He saw that she was awake, but before he could utter any question or remark, she cut him off, "Before you say anything, no, I'm not really doing much better and no, I don't need anything and yes, I just wanna lie here on my own. You know, it's not like I can't get up and walk myself if I want anything."

He moved to lean against the doorframe, clearly taken aback. "Okay," he said in a low and hesitant voice. He stared at her for a long moment before he turned to leave, saying, "Suit yourself."

"Wait, Adam, I'm sorry," she softened a little. She hadn't meant to hurt him. "I'm just sick of being fussed over."

He shuffled his feet a little, still standing in the doorway. "I wasn't going to fuss."

"You weren't? Then what?"

"I just came to tell you that your mom called."

"She did? What did she say?"

"She wanted to talk to you, but I thought you might be asleep. She said it wasn't important but I told her you'd call her back when you were awake."

She nodded. "Okay, I will. Later."

He hesitated for a moment. "Uhm, I... I was also gonna ask if I can have an old piece of your clothing."

She frowned. "What? What for? You need a rag or something? There's some in the closet under the stairs."

"No, I don't need a rag. I need a real piece of your clothing. An old top, a blouse, maybe a scarf. Something like that," he said, finally entering the bedroom.

"Well, I've been meaning to clean out my wardrobe anyway. There's way too much stuff I don't wear anymore just taking up space. But I'm certainly not doing it right now. Can this wait till I feel better?"

"Well, I... I kinda need it right now," he nudged carefully, scratching the back of his head.

She was already getting fed up. "What the hell is so urgent?"

"You'll see," he said mysteriously.

Impatiently, she told him, "Okay, so you don't wanna tell me what in blazes you're up to, but you want me to get out of bed and go through my whole friggin' wardrobe when that's clearly not something I'm keen on right now."

"Jane," he softly pleaded, "please, just this one thing. I'll totally leave you alone after that. It's just that without it I can't really go on with what I'm doing."

"All right," she sighed, unnerved. "I'll give you your stupid blouse."

She made it a point to get out of bed slowly and deliberately, trudged over to the wardrobe and leafed through her blouses. Listlessly, she held out a light blue blouse that she hadn't worn in at least a year, mainly because the sleeves were too short. "Am I gonna get that back?" she asked.

"Uhm... no. At least not in its original form."

She drew her hand with the blouse back, suddenly not so willing to give it up. "Geez, Adam, what are you up to? I might still want to wear this."

She thought about how she could still wear it under a blazer in the winter, because she really did like it despite the too-short sleeves. And all the other blouses were way too nice to give to him to destroy—or whatever he was planning to do with it.

But he just wouldn't back down. Where was this sudden determination coming from? "Jane, come on, surely you've got something in there that you don't wear anymore. You have tons of stuff and you just said you were gonna clear some of it out."

She sighed, completely out of patience with this. "Fine. Take the fucking blouse," she thrust it into his arms, "Knock yourself out."

He stood, silent for a moment, as he watched her climb back into bed. When he didn't move after Joan had adjusted her covers, she shot him another impatient look. "What? Are you waiting for Santa Claus or something? I gave you what you asked for, didn't I?"

His gaze on her was thoughtful, even sad. In a quiet tone, he said, "This whole thing, it just feels too familiar, you know."

She looked at him, puzzled. "Familiar? What do you mean?"

"I mean, you, this funk, you being depressed."

Her tone became exasperated now. "I am _not_ depressed."

"No? Then what is this?"

"I don't know. But it's a little early to start diagnosing me, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry, I just thought..."

"What? Are you worried this is clinical depression? I think it takes more than a few days of feeling crappy to be pathologically depressed, don't you?"

"Yeah? How do you know? I mean what do _you_ know about depression?" he suddenly snapped at her.

Joan propped herself up on her elbows. "That wasn't necessary."

He looked at her, trying to come up with an apology, but she continued. "You know, while we're talking about depression, how the hell do you think I felt when you shut yourself off completely after you found your mom's letter. Remember that?" she said.

"Yeah," he whispered, suddenly ashamed. "God, Jane," he sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump all over you. Guess it's all catching up with me."

Her demeanor softened somewhat before she made a pretty big admission. One that had bothered her for a while, even after Aunt Lou had tried to reassure her. "It's kinda ironic that you'd think I'm depressed. That's what I was thinking about you after your episode."

Adam's brow creased in confusion and he had to swallow. "You were?"

"I even talked to Aunt Lou about it. I mean, with your family history... Maybe it's hereditary, maybe your mom passed it on to you. Bipolar Disorder usually manifests in early adulthood, doesn't it? All the signs were there. The mind-crushing depression, the manic upswing afterwards. Didn't you even consider the possibility?"

He shook his head. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly enough at the time."

"You don't really think that about me, that I suffer from clinical depression, do you?"

He was totally taken aback. He hadn't really thought any of this through. "Jane, I... I'm not sure what I thought. Guess I was being a little biased, jumping to conclusions. I didn't mean to imply that you were..." He stopped there, sighing again. It was still hard for him to talk about these issues that would haunt him his whole life, always there, somewhere buried under the surface. "Of course I don't think you're sick or anything but maybe I did get a little scared, just for a minute there."

"Scared?"

"Yeah, you know, that I'd have to go through all of that again."

So that was it? He was afraid that he might be faced with another stretch of hardship in front of him, maybe even afraid he wouldn't have the strength to deal with it. "Adam," she said, sitting up. "I don't think you have to worry about that. I'm just feeling under the weather. I'm telling you, that's all it is."

He looked up at her, the worry still not completely gone from his eyes. "Are you sure? You said before you can't figure it out. And you're still not feeling okay, otherwise you wouldn't be in bed."

"Well, of course I can't be sure. Would it help if I made an appointment with the doc next week and had myself checked out?"

He moved a step closer to the bed. "I think that would be a good idea."

"Then I'll make an appointment, okay?" She smiled a little.

"Okay." He moved closer yet and crouched down right next to her, gingerly touching her forehead. "In the meantime, just rest. I'll get out of your way."

She nodded. "Okay."

"If you need anything, I'll be in the shed."

"'kay," she affirmed once more before he left the bedroom to go downstairs.

Back in the shed, he placed the blouse with a few other items of clothing and just sat in his chair with his arms propped on the table in front of him. What was going on with Joan? She wasn't pregnant, she said she wasn't sick, she said she wasn't depressed.

He looked at the pile of clothing and the canvas in front of him and got up. Suddenly he didn't have the energy to go on with this anymore, so he went back to the house.

A while later, she found him on the couch watching TV. She'd had a nice, long nap and she felt like moving around a little now.

"Hey," she came around the couch, trying to make her voice sound cheerful. She was surprised to see that there were tears on his cheeks. With one look at the TV screen, she knew why. It struck her as kind of ironic that he would have picked her "Sweet November" DVD to watch right now.

He wiped at the tears. "Geez, I shouldn't be watching this emotional crap," he said ruefully.

She sat down next to him. "Any particular reason you're watching this 'emotional crap'?"

He looked over at her. "I don't know," he sighed.

She gave him a sly smile. "Do you know that there is nothing more sexy than a man who can cry shamelessly."

He couldn't help smiling back. "Wow, that's deep."

"Hey, it's true," she joked.

But his gaze on her was serious, not acknowledging her attempt at humor. "I know you don't like the fussing, but are you doing any better?"

She sighed. "I don't know. I'm just sorta mush-brained and headachy." She saw this eyes clouding over with that all too familiar concern, but she didn't know how to reassure him. She wasn't going to lie just to make him feel less worried. "Let's not talk about me, I'm sick of talking about me for once."

"Okay." He looked contemplative for a moment. "Earlier... you said..." He stopped, unsure how to broach the subject. "You said were worried in the summer that I might be bipolar, like my mom. Is this something we should talk about?" He leaned his back against the couch all the way.

She didn't know to respond at first. "I... I don't know. I mean, I don't think you are. I think that was just me overreacting. Aunt Louisa said so as well. You know, with you still dealing with your father's passing and everything. I think it was your way of grieving."

He nodded. "Yeah, probably. I... I just wish I hadn't been such an ass to you all that time. But it's this weird, unexplainable thing. You know you're not being fair, but you just can't help it."

She nodded. "Yeah, look at me, right now. That's what I'm talking about. I mean, it's totally illogical, isn't it?"

"Illnesses rarely adhere to logic."

"No, I guess not. But I really don't think I am ill. Just... out of sorts."

Silence settled for a long while before Adam asked, very carefully and hesitantly, "Jane, what would you... what would happen if... if I did inherit my mom's illness?"

She gave him a long look before she replied, "It's hard to talk about in theory. But there are better medications now than she had access to."

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. But... it's still kinda scary to think I might become one of 'those people' some day, you know?"

"Yeah," she said just above a whisper. "So you never actually considered it before? That your mom might have passed it on to you?"

He shook his head slightly. "To be honest, no, not really. Well, maybe I've had a fleeting thought now and then, but it's the kind of thing you push away to the back of your mind because it's all just too overwhelming to think about."

She nodded.

"But Jane, ever since we've been back together, I've felt great. Except for the rough patch in the summer, I'm the happiest I can ever remember being."

She smiled at that and lightly touched his arm. "Same here," was all she could say.

He placed his hand on hers and just left it there. She looked down at their hands together and another thought occurred to her. She looked at him, her gaze intense. "Adam, you know that if you did ever get sick... If you were ever diagnosed with your mom's disease, or any disease, you know I'd never abandon you, right?"

He returned her gaze, met her eyes. He opened his mouth slightly to say something, but it took him a few seconds to form the words. "Are you sure?" he finally muttered.

"Oh honey," she said, threading their fingers together to underline the words that followed. "You don't ever have to be afraid of that. I love you, healthy or not. I would do anything in my power to help you, and that would mean staying right there by your side if you were sick._Especially_ then. Because I know you'd do the same for me."

His look became even more intense. "Of course I would," he immediately acknowledged.

She smiled at him. "'Til death do us part, I believe in that. Don't you?"

He gave her hand a little squeeze. "Totally."

She went quiet, a thoughtful look on her face. Ever since she had talked to Lydia last week, a thought had been forming in her head, growing and growing. She just didn't know when or how to bring it up with him, but maybe now was the time. "Adam," she carefully began.

His eyes were on her face, all attention focused there now. She looked so serious all of a sudden. "What?" he asked softly.

"There's... there's something I've been meaning to say. To suggest. I just..." she stammered. "I just don't want you to take it the wrong way or..." she trailed off.

His brow furrowed. "What is it?" he gently prodded. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

"Yeah," she breathed. "I know, but..."

"Come on, out with it," he pressed on, but the gentleness never left his voice.

"You know how you have this tendency to hide out when you're sad or something bothers you and you don't wanna talk about it?"

"But I'm getting better about that, you said it yourself—"

"Yeah, you are. But hear me out. And please don't just dismiss this. Because I know you'll want to."

He let out a long breath. "Okay. What?"

"Have you ever heard of Emotions Anonymous?"

He thought for a second, then shook his head. "No. It sounds like some kind of support group."

"It is," she said in a low voice.

"What does it have to do with me?"

"I think it's something you might want to consider checking out."

That left him stunned for a moment, he leaned his body forward. "Why would I go to a support group?"

She sat up a little straighter. "Adam, for a moment, just for a moment look at everything you deal with. You lost your mom when you were—what? Twelve? You lost your dad this year. We lost Judith in high school. Earlier in the year, you were having problems at work. Your cousin went through that serious illness. We've had our ups and downs, mostly ups. Then you found that letter that threw you for five solid days. You keep telling yourself you can handle all of this on your own. And then every November, you crumble. Like this," she pointed at the TV screen that was now showing the credits for the movie. "You were crying before, and not because of the movie. I understand that you're different than me, that you don't always wanna talk about what's going on in your head. But it's not good for you to keep it all bottled up."

She stopped there, waiting for his reaction. "Jane," he almost whispered. "I'm sorry. I promised I'd talk to you when something's bothering me, and I'm trying, I'm really trying."

She interrupted him. "Yeah, I know. And you are getting better. But you're still hiding."

He looked down at their hands still entwined together.

"Look at me" she said gently. "I know nothing about what it's like to go through the emotional hell of losing first one parent and then the other. Yes, I lost Judith, but I had friends and family to help me through all of that. And I let them. I guess... I just can't understand the depth of your sorrow sometimes." She watched as his eyes watered again, but he blinked the tears back as she added, "That's why I think it would help you talk to people who know what it's like, people who've been through similar things."

He sagged with his back against the couch again, as if he suddenly didn't have anymore strength left. He gazed past her for a silent moment, then focused his eyes back on her. "No," he shook his head. "I'm not one of those people."

"One of what people?"

"One of those people who needs a support group to help them through every little crisis. And, I mean, what crisis? Yeah, my dad died this year and my mom died ten years ago. It's perfectly normal that I'd be sad about that from time to time, don't you think?"

There it was. She knew he wouldn't take it very well, she had anticipated a reaction like this. How could she make it clear to him that seeking help was nothing to be ashamed of? "Yes, it's normal. That's the point. I never expected you to be prejudiced against _those people_," she said with air quotes.

"I didn't mean it that way—"

"I think you did. You make it sound like they're cripples or tainted or some form of lower beings or something. Adam, believe me, they are people just like you and me."

"Have you ever been to a support group?"

"No," she said plainly. "Well, not since camp anyway."

He nodded.

"But we both know someone who has."

"Yeah, Grace," he said dismissively, "and she _hates_ it."

"I'm not talking about Grace," Joan told him.

"Then who?"

"Lydia."

Lydia? No way! She was so together. He racked his brain. Why would she be in support group?

Joan saw his confusion, could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Yes, Adam, my friend Lydia. Does that make her any less of a decent or normal person than you and me?"

He answered her question with another, his voice less fiery. "What group is she in?"

"It's called S.A.R.A. Stands for Sexual Assault Recovery Anonymous."

He swallowed, suddenly feeling very foolish. "She was raped?" he said just above a whisper.

"Yeah," Joan boldly stated. "Happened when she was just a kid. It's a support group for people who were assaulted as children. She still goes to the meetings every week if she can."

"And she told you that?"

"She's talks about it freely if you let her. She's one of those people who aren't ashamed to admit something horrible happened to them. I met her through work, actually. We organized one of their S.A.R.A. events. I thought she was an amazing woman. You know, I really admire her."

He was speechless. He hadn't expected that. Being raped as a child—he didn't even try to fathom that. It was too horrible.

She could read his expression, so she told him, "See, that's what happens, people always get that look, she says."

"What look?"

"That look that spells pure pity. She hates being pitied. She would tell you to quit seeing the abused child in her and start seeing the woman she is now. She would also probably stick her calling card in your hand with her group's web address on it."

"Okay, I get the point," he conceded.

"Do you?" she asked. "Adam, she would never have come this far if it hadn't been for S.A.R.A. We were talking about it just last week. That's what got me thinking about EA." She looked into his eyes, trying to convey what she wanted to say to him. "Please just consider it. I know I can't force you to go, and I won't try, but I really think it might help you. Better than I can. Will you promise me you'll at least think about it, look it up online? If you still don't want anything to do with it, I won't bring it up again."

He nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll think about it."

Joan smiled at him weakly, "Thank you." The she kissed him on the top of his head and went back upstairs to collapse in bed again.

* * *

Adam awoke when Joan stirred next to him. When he turned to face her, he could see she was still very groggy, having just opened her eyes to another new day.

"Hey," he half whispered. "What time is it?"

She mumbled something incoherent at first, then turned around and looked at her alarm clock. "Oh God. Ten past six," she muttered.

"How are you feeling?"

That question again. But could she blame him? "I don't know. Kinda muddy. I hate it when I wake up with a headache."

There was the faintest shimmer of worry in his eyes. "Okay, then here's the plan. You stay in bed, nurse that headache. I'll call in sick for you. Maybe you just need to stay home for a day and really sleep to get this out of your system."

She sighed. "Adam, even if I do stay home, I really can't lie in bed all day. I mean, look at this place. It's a mess. There's clothes all over the place that need to be put away or washed. Or ironed. We haven't been grocery shopping for days. The bathroom needs cleaning. You know, I hate it, but I don't really wanna do anything about it either." She let out a frustrated sound. "God, this needs to stop." Then she looked up at the ceiling. "You hear me? God? This needs to stop!"

He raised his eyebrows at her, rolling out of bed. As he put on a t-shirt over his boxers, he said, "Honey, don't worry about all the chores and stuff. I can take care of that tonight when I get home from work."

"Nah, that's not fair to you. Plus I know how much you hate ironing."

"Well, I guess I could leave that one thing for you." He smiled. "Maybe you can drag your butt out of bed and take care of that later?"

She smiled and gave him a shrug. "OK, I can do that."

He went over to her side of the bed, kissing her softly on the lips, which she welcomed. "Just lie back down and relax, okay? Be back in a minute," he told her.

Ten minutes later, he returned and put a plate with toast and a mug with tea on her bedside table. "Thank you," she told him with honest gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd be miserable all on your own," he said slyly.

"That would definitely suck." She watched him slip on his work clothes. "What's the plan for today, then?"

"Well, let's see..." He pretended to think hard. "I gotta go to work. After that, I kinda remember someone complaining about the house being a mess and the bathroom needing cleaning. I'll take a trip to Publix for those much needed groceries. And then there's the garden. Don't the roses need cutting down, so they'll make it through winter?"

Her eyes widened a little. "No. I mean, yes, but they... you know, you need to..."

He smiled openly at her now. "You don't trust me to cut the roses, do you?"

Caught in the act. Joan had to smile a little now too. "Well, they _are_ very headstrong plants, with all those thorns. We don't want you to get your precious artist's hands all scratched up, do we?"

He laughed a little. "Okay, I get it. I'll leave the roses to your skillful female expertise. Maybe I should have a go at the weeds though."

"In November?" she asked.

He suddenly grew quiet, as if that reminded him of something. She looked at him questioningly. When he didn't say anything, she said, "Well, have fun with the chores. Just don't touch my roses, all right?"

His gaze focused on her again, nodding. "Yeah, fine."

Why did he suddenly go all quiet, she wondered. She watched him turn to go, but called his name before he did. "Adam? You okay?"

He turned around to look at her. "Sure," he said, forcing a smile that did little to convince her as he left the room.

Joan frowned. Was her relentless crabbiness getting to him? She sighed and wished that this would pass already. She was totally sick of herself and she was also beginning to wonder if Adam and her mom were right and it was time she go see a doctor about this lack of energy and the constant headaches.

* * *

Adam didn't even hear the shed door open, so deep was he lost in thought. But his head shot up when he heard Joan's voice.

"Whoa, you okay?" she asked as she stepped in and indicated the CD player and the Cranberries CD with the black cover lying next to it. "You only listen to that when you're feeling low."

He gave her a small smile that was supposed to be reassuring. "Yeah, well, Dolores and me go way back."

She actually had to smile at that. She went over to where he was sitting. "I think I have good news."

"You're feeling better?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

She nodded. "Yeah, I think the funk I was in might be coming to an end."

He swiveled around in his chair to face her, but deliberately didn't get up. He wasn't sure just how much physical proximity she really wanted, seeing how she had made it clear the past few days he'd best leave her alone.

She answered his unspoken question by closing the gap between them and sitting in his lap, her arms slung around his neck. That sweet smile could only mean... He leaned in and very softly sought her lips out with his own. They were a bit chapped so he kept the kiss gentle. She still seemed fragile in his arms. So pale and precious.

He couldn't stop the dull pang of disappointment that was welling up again in his stomach. It had been following him all day. It was November 11, the day his mom died, 10 years ago now. And Joan didn't remember. He felt slightly guilty for expecting her to. She had been feeling so down and off-kilter herself the last few days, and he didn't want to place his burdens on her on top of everything she was already going through.

She gave him a look when he withdrew from the kiss so quickly. "What's wrong?" she softly inquired. "Dolores have you in her throes after all?" she tried to joke.

"Yeah. No." He didn't want to upset her with the real reason for his holding back. "You just really had me worried there." He affectionately smoothed away a few hairs that had gotten stuck on her eyelashes. "You're really doing better?"

"Still got a bit of a headache, but at least the moodiness and chilliness is gone."

"So, what was this?" Adam wondered.

"God, I wish I knew. Honestly, I have no idea. This has never happened to me before. Just some weird funk I can't figure out. Maybe a virus I picked up that my body was try to fight. Guess the old immune system won in the end."

"Important thing is that it's gone. And stays gone," he said.

Silence settled that was only broken by Dolores O'Riordan's soft Irish voice. For the first time, Joan noticed the object that was lying on the table in front of Adam. She got up off his lap and stood before it, reaching out with her finger to touch the piece of artwork.

She recognized the blouse of hers that she had given him. It was now part of a collection of different clothing items arranged in a way so that they formed an imaginary torso of a person fastened to a wooden board that was painted to match. Her finger slid over the surface of the garments, which were completely solid and felt like they were frozen in place. "How did you do that?"

"I soaked them in water and wood glue. When they dry, they harden like this. Pretty cool, isn't it?"

"Totally." She was amazed. "I can see my blouse right there," she pointed at it, "and that looks like one of your old t-shirts. Is that the one with the red lion on it?"

"Yeah," he nodded. He pointed out a few more items of clothing. "That's an old tie of my dad's, and this is a blouse my mom often wore. There's even a small piece of her wedding dress right here," he showed her.

She could just make out a piece of embroidered white satiny fabric woven in. "Wow, Adam, that's beautiful. So this is like a family portrait, only different."

He nodded, a glint of pride in his eyes. "Exactly."

"I love this. We need to put it up in the house somewhere."

"Okay," he agreed.

She studied the arrangement again, getting stuck on that piece of Elizabeth's wedding dress. And then it suddenly hit her. Today was November 11, wasn't it?

_Oh my God! _She felt suddenly queasy.

Adam noticed her discomfort. "What is it?" he softly inquired.

She could barely meet his eyes, she was so ashamed. "Adam," she whispered. "I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"You know what. Your mom. What day it is today."

"Yeah," he said just above a whisper.

Her shoulders sagged slightly. Of course she had hurt him with that. This day ten years ago was probably the day that had made the biggest impact on his waking life.

There was so much she wanted to say; she wanted to make it up to him so badly. But her thoughts all crashed into each other in her head, and none of them, nothing at all, would come out of her mouth. So she stammered, "Adam, I... God, I... How could have been such a bubblehead? I... I should've remembered. There is no excuse—_none_—for me not remembering. I mean, I should have seen it—you here in the shed, with Dolores, and I just... I..." she stopped for air. "I am so, so sorry. You must be so disappointed in me—"

"Jane." He interrupted her, getting up from his chair to stand across from her with the table between them.

She looked down, going on, "I should have considered that the world doesn't revolve around me, right?" She snorted a cynical laugh. "While I was so wrapped up in my own misery, you were—"

"Jane," he said a little more forcefully, "listen to me."

She looked up at him.

"It's okay."

"No, it's _not_ okay. It's not even close to okay," she shot back, then crumbled. "I wish I could make it up to you somehow. Tell me how I can make it up to you. Please."

His voice was still so quiet, the disappointment gone from it now. "Come on, you weren't feeling well. I don't blame you for being a little selfish. It's only natural in your situation. And you did remember, didn't you?"

"Yeah," she whispered hoarsely. "More than half a day too late. I should have been there for you, I should have—"

He couldn't take the look of shame in her eyes, the way she was beating herself up. He came around the table, and gently took her by the upper arms. "Hey," he said in a soothing voice. "I'm doing okay. As long as I know you're feeling better, I'm feeling better."

There was silence for a while before Joan asked, "Have you been to the cemetery at all today?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Were you going to? You should go, or we should go. If you want to..."

He shook his head again. "No, I don't think I want to."

She looked at him questioningly. "Why? You didn't leave work early today and stay home because you were worried about me, did you?"

"Well, yeah, I figured I should be here, with you in bed, but that's not it. I don't think I need to go back today. We went there on Monday, I think that should be enough. She wouldn't want to see me standing there, all miserable and sad.

"You couldn't have given her a better birthday present, with the cake and having Grace and Karen over that night. It was such a wonderful way to remember her, to celebrate her life instead of marking her death. I think we should do that from now on. I've had ten years to mourn. Maybe it's time to focus on what I had of her before she passed. You know, hold on to the good ripples instead of choking on the bad ones."

He withdrew an envelope from the shelf next to them. He took out the letter and read a passage of it to Joan. "'_And the ripples spread from boat to pond to sea to sky. And nothing can stop them, nothing ever will.'_See? She knew all about the ripples. And she wanted me to cherish them, I know that now."

He held the letter out to Joan, and she took it gingerly, like it was something sacred. She had held it once before, when he had asked for her to read it to him, back in high school, when he had been too scared to face what it might say alone.

She stayed silent for a long moment until she felt his finger softly stroking a strand of hair away from her temple. "Hey," he whispered. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"I..." she began, "I'm so proud of you. And your mom and dad would be so proud of you. You've really come a long way."

"Yeah, something I couldn't have done without you."

"No," told him. "Don't say these perfect things today. I don't deserve it. I've been such a selfish bitch."

"No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was," she objected.

"Okay, maybe you were, a little. But you didn't do it on purpose, and I'm just glad you're okay again. You asked me how you could make it up to me. How about we just spend a quiet evening on the couch. I'll be perfectly happy to just have you by my side, you know, without the hot water bottle and the blanket and the flannel pjs."

She had to laugh a little at the image she must've presented. "I was pretty pathetic, wasn't I?"

"Do you want an honest answer?" he asked mischievously.

"No, lie to me."

"You weren't."

"Thank you." She gave him a big smile now. "Why don't we go to The Local on Saturday for the brunch buffet? We can stay in bed till we're ready to get up, and then languish over a late and copious feast with no dishes to take care of. It'll be my treat."

"How could I say no?"

"Okay, then let this be part of me making it up to you."

There was a twinkle in his eye when he looked at her. "There are more parts? Can I make suggestions?"

"Only if they don't entail sexual activity."

He poked his lower lip out into a mock pout and she slapped his arm jokingly.

"Cut it out, doofus."

He feigned shock. "Did you just call me doofus?"

"Yep." She laughed. "Let's see how I feel tonight, okay?"

"Jane," he said with a more serious undertone. "I was kidding—"

She reached for his hand, "Ask me again tonight, okay?"

"Okay," he smiled as she leaned in for a sweet kiss. "I'll take you up on that."

* * *

"I'm glad you're feeling better, honey. Adam, thanks for taking care of my baby," Helen said as she gave him a goodbye hug at the Girardi's front door.

"My pleasure," he smiled.

"Well, that's a lie, but OK," Joan grinned, taking his hand.

They laughed. Helen looked at her daughter a little chidingly. "You two should drop by more often."

Joan gave her a look that bordered on incredulous. "Mom, we see each other all the time. When have I ever missed Family Night? And you know we're gonna be spending more and more time together with the planning as we get closer to the wedding. I think pretty soon you're gonna wish I wasn't under foot all the time."

"Never gonna happen."

"I can't wait to say I told you so."

"Well... with Luke being away and Kevin being so busy, is it wrong that I at least want to see my daughter a little more often?"

Joan smiled slyly. "Whatever happened to you being glad all your kids were out of the house so you could have a little alone time with Dad."

Helen looked at her, an almost shocked expression on her face. "What? When did I say that?"

"Joke, Mom, relax."

Helen gave her a teasing scowl and smiled at Adam.

"Thanks for dinner, Mrs. G. It was great," Adam said as Joan moved to open the front door.

"It's Helen. We've talked about this," she said.

"I know, I'm sorry, _Helen_," he smiled, stressing her name. "Might take me a while to get used to that."

"I'll keep reminding you." She grew more serious as she told him, "Adam, you know, it's good to see you happy on this day."

That threw him for a moment. He wasn't sure why. Of course she knew what day it was. She was the one to read his mother's note to him all those years ago, after all. She knew all about it. And even after years of separation, she remembered. He was blown away. He felt so lucky to have the Girardis in his life. They were all amazing. And soon, they'd be his family. "Thanks," he whispered to Helen, fighting the sting of joyful tears.

In the car on the way home, he just couldn't believe his good fortune. Again. He looked over at Joan, who was driving. "Thank you," he told her, out of the blue.

"For what?"

"For dragging me over to your parents' house tonight."

"Actually, it was my mom's idea," she admitted.

"It was?"

"Yeah," Joan sighed a little. "She remembered. Unlike me. And she thought it might be good for you to get out of the house and be with people tonight."

"Is that a mom thing?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's a Helen thing."

"You're really lucky, you know?"

"How so?"

He looked over at her. "You have this great family. They're always there for you, no matter what."

"They're your family too now, you know."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know. Might take me a little while to get used to that, but you're all making it really easy."

"They really care about you. They always have. So don't you dare jinx it." Joan's voice took on a mock Italian accent. "My pop's connected, you know."

"Uh oh," he said jokingly. "I promise not to cross the Girardis. Ever. Especially the ladies. You know how to keep a guy in line, don't you?"

Continuing in her faux Italian accent, "O mio bello, you don't know nah-thing."

He laughed at the face she made then, very Sopranos. She joined him as she continued to drive toward their home. This was probably the best November he'd had in a long time. A very long time. And it felt good.

* * *


	24. Distance

_**Chapter 21**_  
**Distance**

_by Sisterdebmac_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
This one's just for fun. Felt like we needed a little of that._

_Also, I should point out that Jaime is a real person and I hope he likes how I portray him if he ever sees this. Jaime, you made a nerve-wracking stay in LA for the 2003 Creative Screenwriting Pitchfest a little more comfortable with your kindness. _

_Thanks to TeeJay for the polish._

_Thank you to all the readers of Butterflies and especially those who have reviewed it. Your comments make us want to keep pushing on even when it's hard. _

_**Synopsis:**  
Adam and Joan are separated for the first time in their new relationship by a sudden business trip._

_**Rated PG-13 **__for adult themes and sexually frank dialog._

_**Genre: **Mostly fluff. _

_**Disclaimer:**  
They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah._

* * *

_Tuesday, December 7, 2010_

"Damn it!" she heard from the bathroom. She stumbled in to see if he was OK and found the lights blaring on him as he examined a huge red zit on his chin. It was one of those awful, sore things that popped up seemingly overnight.

"What, baby?" She blinked against the glare.

"I have a huge meeting this morning with a skin care company of all things—look at my face."

She watched him just stare at the offensive blemish for a couple of minutes before he reached up and planted his hand on the mirror to cover his face. Then he turned away from his reflection in disgust.

She wrapped herself around him. "I'd still buy whatever you're selling."

He kissed the top of her head and pulled away from her. "I do wish your opinion counted, believe me."

"I know this meeting's important, but it's not gonna turn on a pimple, Adam."

"Of course not. It just bugs me that the partnership's still up in the air and I'm not going into this thing looking and feeling my best."

"You feel bad?" She grabbed a scrunchy and tied her hair up in a loose ponytail at her neck.

"My stomach's been in shreds off and on for a couple of days now."

That prompted her to look at him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Honey, it's no big deal. Just nerves."

"So? Doesn't mean you can't confide, does it?"

He sat down on the rim of the bathtub while Joan leaned with her backside against the sink opposite Adam. He looked down at his sock-clad feet. "No. You're right. I just feel kinda stupid being this nervous."

"It's OK to be nervous. Just don't let it get in your way anymore than that zit. You're gonna be fine. You always are."

"Did I mention that Henry's making me do the presentation totally on my own."

"Really?"

He nodded dubiously. "First time. This account is mine to win or lose."

"How badly do you want it?"

"Very."

"Then you'll win it. I know you. When you set your sights on something, it's already a done deal."

"Wish I had your confidence."

"No worries. I have enough for both of us." She held out her hands and when he took them, she pulled him up to a standing position. "Come on, you need to get ready." She kissed him and left him to finish up.

* * *

Adam had just returned from his lunch break. Not that he'd had much of an appetite. The presentation had gone well enough, but the company wasn't easy to win over. They said they loved the creativity they saw at Liquid Designs, but they didn't think the team had a real feel for their product. That had discouraged him somewhat, and he decided to call Joan to tell her that it was not a done deal yet.

"They insist on having me visit their headquarters," he said, sounding annoyed.

"Well, that's not so terrible, is it?" she asked.

"It's in Los Angeles."

"Oh." She leaned back in her office chair.

"So I guess I have to fly out there," he sighed.

"When?"

"Pretty much now. Henry's assistant is looking for a way to fly us out in the next couple of days."

"So Henry's going too?"

"Yeah, thank God. I really didn't want to go out there on my own." While he was holding the phone receiver with one hand, he was fiddling with a print-out of preliminary flight times with the other.

"How long do you have to stay?"

"I'm not sure yet."

In her head, she couldn't help imagining him in a lonely hotel room somewhere in LA. "We've never been separated like this."

"I know," he sighed into the phone. "That part really sucks."

"Yes, it does. And Christmas is in two weeks."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be back way before then."

"You'd better be. You are not missing our first Christmas together," she told him, making it sound almost like a threat.

"Nope." She didn't have to say it, there was no way he would let that happen.

"When will you know your itinerary?"

"Hopefully, by the time I leave here today." Henry's assistant was probably calling the travel agency as they spoke.

"Don't let them make you stay any longer than you have to, OK?"

"Promise," he nodded.

* * *

_Wednesday, December 8, 2010_

God, how could it be happening so fast? Only yesterday, he told her he had to leave town for probably at least a week. And he was going today? How was that fair? They lucked into a flight, he said. Just that simple. Simple, huh? She could hardly bear it.

She woke first to find him still snoozing away. She could feel him spooned up against her. Maybe he wasn't actually awake yet, but parts of him were definitely getting there. As much as she wanted to wake him up and take advantage of him right then, she also rather enjoyed snuggling in his arms, waiting for him to come around on his own. He was always so adorably disheveled and mush-brained when he first woke up. But his instincts were as sharp as a tack. He could easily pop her cork long before he was capable of normal human speech most any given morning.

The thought brought a huge smile to her face as she lay there anticipating his touch. She felt him stir a little and she was immediately glad they were already naked. It was all she could do not to collapse into giggles. Why did trying to be still always make her do that?

_Jane... _He felt her move and it was like he was glued to her and could only follow. Anywhere, everywhere. His arms were numb from holding onto her. His legs felt weak. But he was rigid against her. And that was almost all he could really feel. He let out a moan so deep it was almost in the low frequency range.

She'd woken him. She sighed when his arms tightened around her and she felt his breath against the back of her neck. He slipped his leg in between hers. She tightened around him until they were woven together.

They stayed like that for a while, just holding on. Neither of them could believe they wouldn't have this kind of contact for at least several days.

"I can't let you go," she breathed.

"I wish I had a choice but I have to go, Jane."

"No, I don't mean I can't allow you to leave for the trip. I mean I cannot physically let go of you right now."

"Oh," he smiled, feeling his belly flip deliriously. "So what are we gonna do about this?"

"I have no idea."

He lay his face against the back of her head, inhaling the scent of her soft hair. "I want nothing more than to stay right exactly here." He kissed her hair and she sighed into him. "In fact, you know what? Screw it. I don't need that stinking job," he said whimsically. "I'll quit. I'll become a house husband and just do my art."

She laughed and reached back to lay her hand on his cheek. "I love you, dreamer boy."

"I love you more."

"Impossible."

* * *

He called her as soon as he and Henry checked into the Holiday Inn Los Angeles City Center that Wednesday afternoon. He barely even put down his luggage before he fished out his phone and pushed the speed dial button to ring her cell.

She answered very quickly. "Hey sweetie."

"Hey," he answered. She sounded so happy to talk to him it made him feel bad about sounding as tired as he felt. It had been such a long day. After two hours waiting at BWI, the five-hour flight to LAX, and almost an hour waiting for his things in the cramped, hot quarters of the baggage claim area, he had to wait another hour for Henry to secure their rental car. He felt like he'd been traveling for eight days instead of eight hours.

He collapsed on the bed and unbuttoned his sweat-stained dress shirt. Back home, the temps were hovering around twenty degrees. In Los Angeles, it was seventy-eight.

"You OK?" Joan asked.

"Yeah. It was just a drag of a day. I'm wiped." Suddenly feeling hot and realizing the room was incredibly stuffy, he dragged himself up and went to turn on the air conditioner. Afterward, he took a peek out the window to see if there was a view. Yep. But only of The Staples Center complex next door. "What about you? How was your day?"

"The usual. Except for coming home to an empty house. That sucked."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You gotta do what you gotta do."

"Yeah, but that doesn't make it suck any less."

"True."

"So listen, I'm gonna take a shower because I've been sweating in my work clothes all day. Then, I'm supposed to meet Henry to get some dinner in a couple of hours. So I'll call you tonight when I'm back in the room for the evening, OK?"

"You'd better."

After a cool shower and a quick nap, Adam met Henry in the lobby and they went for a nice dinner at Pacific Dining Car. It was a wonderful, elegant meal and Adam felt truly treated. Henry charged it as a business dinner of course, but they did discuss their strategy for meeting with the client the following morning. He got along with Henry quite well, they were on the same page on a lot of things and having a conversation with him came easily. Adam didn't want to imagine what this trip would be like if he didn't have this good a relationship with his boss.

By the time they got back to the hotel, Adam was just about beat. All he wanted was to stretch out on the hotel bed and call Joan. Henry tried to get him to go to the Emerald Lounge there in the hotel for a nightcap. Adam explained that he was really tired and he just wanted to call home, "It's almost eleven in Arcadia. I'm afraid I've already waited too long to call."

Henry parted ways with him at the fourth floor, where the elevator opened right in front of the Emerald, and Adam went on up to his room.

Joan was on the sofa, watching TV when her cell rang. She grabbed it quickly. "I almost gave up on you."

"Sorry. Henry took me to this amazing place for dinner. We just got back in," he explained. "Were you already in bed?"

"Are you kidding me? I've been avoiding the bedroom all night."

"Why?"

"Don't wanna face that big, empty bed."

Adam didn't know what to say to that. It felt a little like accusation.

When he didn't speak, Joan knew she was making him feel lousy about having to leave her. She didn't know what to say either, but she immediately felt guilty.

Finally, with more regret than bitterness, he said, "You know, this crappy hotel bed's empty too. At least you get to be in our bed, in our home."

"You're right," she sighed.

"So, why don't you go get ready to crash. It's late."

"Yeah, I probably should." She rose and stretched, turned off the TV and headed upstairs. She was pretty tired, but she was also antsy. On any normal Wednesday night, after doing the dinner dishes, they'd watch TV together on the couch and they'd end up making out after the news started. Wednesday had turned out to be the one night of the week they almost always made love. Probably since most of their intimate time was on the weekends, they often felt the need to reconnect in the middle of the week. There was nothing planned about it, like a standing date or anything, but it almost always happened.

Neither of them talked about it. Neither of them expected it. But now, tonight, both of them missed it terribly. But as delicious as their normal activity was, they'd be content to just snuggle up and sleep.

When she didn't say anything more, he prodded, "Jane?"

She came back to earth slowly. "Yeah?"

"Are you going to bed now?"

Something in the gentleness of his voice made a wave of relaxation wash over her. "Yeah, I guess so. How 'bout this, I'll go wash up and brush my teeth and everything and call you back when I lay down? You can talk to me until I fall asleep. How pathetically needy is that?"

"I can beat it," he whispered. "Take the phone in the bathroom with you and put it on speaker so I can listen to you get ready for bed like I always do."

"You listen to me in there?"

"Yeah. It— it's weirdly Pavlovian somehow."

"It makes you salivate?"

"No!" He laughed at that mental image. "Nothing like that. It calms me. I know that in just a minute, you'll be beside me. And everything'll be right."

She smiled. "I get it. It's kinda like when I hear your whistley little snore."

Ha laughed again, softly, as he drew down the bed covers and crawled in between the cold, lonely sheets. He had already gotten rid of his clothes and was only wearing his boxers and a t-shirt now. "Go get ready for bed."

"OK," Joan conceded.

Before long, she was in bed too, and they talked dreamily about all manner of things... What his flight was like... How cool Pacific Dining Car was... Neither of them had ever been to California before, so she asked a lot of questions about what this or that was like. Of course, he had only seen the airport and downtown so far, so he really couldn't say much.

Somewhere along the way, they hit upon the idea of laying out the extra pillows beside them to help give the illusion that they were not alone in their beds, three thousand miles apart.

Just before midnight Arcadia time, when neither of them could keep their eyes open any longer, they hung up and fell asleep.

* * *

_Thursday, December 9, 2010_

Was her life really this boring before she and Adam found each other again? She suddenly had a brief flashback to the night of the high school graduation party. He was going to Rhode Island and she was starting her internship in Arcadia; it had been a parting of ways for them in a way. And then she vaguely remembered how they had talked about missing each other and that they might find a way to be together again some time. Neither of them really believed it, it was something they said to make themselves feel better. But fate had indeed brought them back together. How weird and somehow amazing was that?

And now, here she was, alone again, even if it was just for a week or two. She got up and got ready for work in an empty, quiet house. She ate her breakfast alone. Then she drove to work with nothing to look forward to at the end of the day. The thought made her tired and she wondered how she was supposed to get through the daily grind this way for more than a week. Oh, she was already planning to go out Christmas shopping a couple of times over the weekend—once with Lydia and once with her mom. That would take care of Saturday and Sunday. Grace and Karen had offered to come over Tuesday night, taking pity on her. But for the next two nights, she was pretty much on her own.

She could always find something that needed doing around the house. And there was TV and those books she always planned to finish. But that wasn't the point. The point was she'd spent one night without him and she was already miserable. How silly. She laughed at herself, but there was a bit of melancholy in it. She just wasn't used to missing him. And she hated it.

* * *

Adam's troublesome zit lingered. He stood in front of the hotel room mirror, glaring at it with contempt. Joan had bought him some astringent pads that were supposed to dry it up and kill it. He'd been using them vigilantly. No luck. It just got bigger. And more painful.

He had coffee in the hotel restaurant and read his presentation notes over again as he waited for Henry to finally come down from his room. They were scheduled to meet with all the muckety mucks at the company at 10:30. He'd already loaded the car with their presentation materials and he was more than ready to get underway.

He'd been up for a very long time, since six am. There was just no reason to languish in bed without her. And being on Pacific Time, he'd had an early night last night.

He was grateful for the time difference between Maryland and California because he was able to call her quickly when he was out of the shower and cooling down before dressing. She was at work so she couldn't talk for long, but at least he got to hear her voice.

He'd not gotten as much sleep as he'd hoped, waking up a few times in the unfamiliar bed, but he felt OK. He was nervous about standing up and speaking again to a mostly new bunch of people, even though he knew intellectually that he was getting to be pretty good at selling his ideas and his team. His growing skill in that area was one of the reasons Henry wanted him to be a partner. Of course, he wanted it too. Though he sometimes wondered if he would still be required—or even allowed—to do the creative work, and not just find himself mired in the marketing.

Then again, it was exciting, the notion of traveling, meeting new people. Wouldn't expanding his experience make him a deeper artist? And isn't that what he wanted from life? Just to make art? Commercial or personal, what difference did it make as long as he was creating something?

It took him aback for a second, the possibilities. It was all right there in front of him. He could taste it.

* * *

The meeting was held in a plush conference room. Henry had arranged with Olivia, the assistant to Director Of Marketing, Pamela Torres to have everyone's favorite brunch brought in. Mostly fruit, bagels & schmears, and pastries. There were a few juices Adam had never heard of, and of course gourmet coffee. He couldn't believe the money Henry was pouring into the pursuit of this account. He wasn't exactly pinching pennies on their personal expenses either. He'd given Adam a very generous per diem. And he was tipping like a rock star or something. Of course, Adam knew that it was all a deduction. But still.

During the early part of the meeting, when Ms. Torres was speaking, Adam was seated next to Sherry Lansig, head of R&D. She was a striking redhead with a firm handshake. When he went up to speak, he found himself angled to speak almost directly to her. He was grateful that her expression always seemed open and interested. When he concluded, she asked a few very good questions. Ms. Torres was inquisitive as well. He made a few suggestions and adjustments and they all left their first meeting with a game plan for what they wanted from the campaign. Now, all he had to do was go back and make it happen.

After the meeting, Sherry and Olivia gave Adam and Henry the grand tour of their headquarters. It was impressive. Very much a living office. They had daycare, a phase I clinical trial clinic and a gym, with a track and a pool. They even had a kennel for their dog owners with a trainer and an on-call vet. A plaque said they were rated in the Top Ten Best American Workplaces. It was indeed a comfortable place. Adam was taking mental notes, adding things to the list for the day when he finally made partner at Liquid Designs.

They were also introduced to some of the models the company liked for the print ads. There would be a larger call for fresh faces on Monday of the following week with the photographer that everyone had already agreed on there to help judge. Henry was very interested in this aspect of the process. He offered his unlimited assistance.

At the end of the day, as soon as she found a minute, Sherry told Adam, "Come with me. I think I can help you with your little problem." Trying to be subtle, she just pointed to her chin.

He didn't get it. She didn't explain. She simply marched on, expecting him to follow. He was flabbergasted as he went after her, asking, "What problem?" He thought his only problem was how much he missed Joan.

He glanced at her as she walked slightly ahead of him. She was undeniably a knock-out. He wasn't sure what it was about redheads, but they never failed to be captivating. Every redhead he'd ever encountered, from his mother on down the line had been. And Sherry Lansig was no exception. She was obviously a brilliant chemist, but she chose to work in the cosmetics industry. She was unquestionably beautiful, but she seemed barely made up. She didn't need to be. Her skin was luminous.

A few times, when the light hit her just right, Adam was struck with the desperate impulse to paint her. What he did instead was watch her when she talked, committing every nuance he could to memory so that he commit her to canvas later. She was just stunning—a handful of years older than him, maybe five, he mused. She was also a little taller than him. And she was just a fascinating thing in action. As brassy as the men, but warm and open and, well, just plain cool. He realized very quickly that she was going to be important to the deal.

She took him to the R&D department, into an unoccupied room with salon chairs in it. He stopped just inside the door, looking at them, and smiled at her suspiciously. "Do I need a makeover?"

"Nope. Not at all." She smiled back at him.

His throat went dry. He had no idea what might happen next.

Sherry reached out and caught hold of his tie, pulling him along with her playfully. Adam felt mildly weird about her being so aggressive. Before he could come up with a way to make it clear to her that he was already spoken for, he heard her say, "But maybe some good skin care wouldn't hurt." She lead him to a salon chair. "What do you wash your face with?"

"Soap?" he shrugged.

"Tell me it has moisturizer in it at least."

He shrugged again.

"Typical. Wanna have a seat for me?"

He did so. She turned on a set of very bright lights that made Adam flinch and blink.

"Sorry, I should've warned you." She took a really close look at his face.

Uncomfortably close.

"You've got good pores, but they're drowning. We've gotta get them cleansed, get you exfoliated. What do you use to shave with?"

"Uh, Mennen gel usually."

"And what do you use afterward?"

He shrugged again.

"No moisturizer of any kind?" she asked.

"I... thought the gel had moisturizer."

Sherry shook her head at him. He was clueless. Sweet, but clueless. "Well, the good news is that your skin is very healthy. Sensitive, right?"

He nodded, feeling weirder by the moment. Why did this feel almost too intimate?

"But healthy. You get chapped easily, wind and sun kinda bother you?" she continued.

"Yeah."

"For one thing, drink more water, less soda. Caffeine and alcohol are dehydrating. Your skin really needs moisture. I can teach you how to take care of it, give you some really great stuff. But you have to follow through. Every day."

He nodded, perhaps a little skeptically.

"Maybe it seems like a lot of trouble, but you can avoid breakouts like that. Would that make it worth your while?"

"Sure."

"And don't let anybody make you feel like a pussy for taking care of your skin."

He almost laughed, but she was dead serious. "I won't."

"It's not just about looking good. It's about feeling good."

"Got it."

"Good. Let's get started."

He hesitated a moment. "Uhm... can I ask you something?"

She gave him a curious look. "Sure."

"How come you... I mean, you're the head of R&D, why are you doing this yourself? Surely you have other people..."

"We brought you out here to learn what we're all about. This product line is my baby. I developed it. Actually, it's pretty lucky that you kinda need my help. Now I can personally show you what you'll be selling."

"Oh, yeah, lucky me with my timely zit." He nodded.

She laughed and that put him at ease. She was proud of her work, just as he was proud of his. Was what she was doing anymore intimate than him studying her so he could paint her?

She felt him relax as she gave him a complete facial treatment, finally using the new men's moisturizer that they were about to shoot a TV commercial for. When she was done, she raised the chair enough so that he could look in the mirror.

"You look refreshed. How do you feel?"

"Well, actually pretty invigorated, I guess."

She smiled at him. "Well, that's actually pretty good, I guess."

The door popped open and Adam glimpsed a man with wavy hair entering.

"Hey Sherry, there you are," the man said.

Adam turned to look at him and gaped just as Sherry said, "Hey Orlando, I didn't know you were coming in today."

"Well, the geeks wanted to talk to us about the commercial, show us the pre-imaging. I just thought I'd look you up and say hi. They told me you were in here," said Orlando Bloom. He glanced over at Adam, still somewhat reclined in his chair and looking all glowy. "Sorry, I didn't know you were in the middle of... something."

"No!" Sherry countered instantly. "I'm not in the middle of anybody— _anything_. Adam is the lead artist on our print and online campaign. We were just—"

"No need to explain. I get the picture."

"No," she said going to him, "you really don't."

He looked down.

"I was giving Adam a facial," she began. "And I was teaching him about the product for his own good and to help him understand what we're doing."

Adam sat agog as Orlando Bloom nodded and smiled down at lovely Sherry. "How late do you have to stay today?" he watched Orlando ask.

"Maybe another hour or so."

"Cool." Orlando Bloom looked at Adam once again. "Sorry to interrupt, mate. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah—" was all Adam could choke out. He gave a quick little wave as Orlando exited.

When he was gone, Sherry turned back to Adam only to find him staring at the door. "Adam?"

"Uh, that was..."

"Orlando Bloom. Yeah." She had to hide a smile upon seeing Adam's expression.

"No, you don't understand. My fiancé, Joan, she loves that guy. He's, like, her absolute favorite actor. In the world. She'd totally die right now."

Sherry now openly smiled at him. So sweet. And so cute. Not Orlando Bloom cute, but cute. She liked him very much. "Yeah, he's doing a commercial for the new moisturizer."

"No way!" he laughed. "Cool..."

_Friday, December 10, 2010_

When Adam looked in the mirror that morning, the zit was gone. Gone. Made him feel like he might have a pretty decent day ahead of him.

At headquarters, a very fresh-looking Sherry gave him photos Orlando Bloom had autographed to Joan. He was stunned. Joan would squeal. He couldn't wait to give them to her.

His meeting went well. The proposal he had spent much of the previous evening working on after Joan went to bed were a big hit. He was beginning to feel like he was on the right track.

He told Joan all about it in a gloopy, sentimental IM conversation he sent from an empty conference room at headquarters late that afternoon. It began, "God, I miss you."

Joan could not believe the weird coincidence of Adam meeting Orlando totally randomly like that. That kind of thing just didn't happen. Except it did. He didn't hear her squeal, of course, but he knew she was excited. When he told her about the autographs, she suddenly made a whole lot more typos, she was typing so fast. He had to smile imagining her in front of their computer, all giddy.

That night back at the hotel, Henry coaxed Adam to go out with him and some of the models to a dance club. Within a few minutes, newly divorced Henry snapped into full chick-chasing mode, making Adam very uncomfortable. He sat at a tiny table alone and watched. He felt like he'd been saved by the bell when Joan called him.

It was very late for her and she missed hearing his voice before she fell asleep. He had to go outside to hear her. And somehow, he felt guilty for being at a night club even though he had done nothing wrong. He took her call as a welcome excuse to leave. He went back inside, finished his one drink and waved Henry over to tell him he was going to take a cab back to the hotel. Henry was disappointed for a few seconds, until the girls caught his attention again. Adam watch his hopeless horndog of a boss go right back to embarrassing himself with this gaggle of chicks who were easily half his age.

He called Joan back as soon as he was in his room. He was so relieved to finally be there, just talking to her. He kicked off his shoes and flopped on the bed, not caring about his suit and shirt getting all crumply.

"Did you dance with anyone?" she joked.

"No."

"Not even your stylist?"

"She's a chemist, Jane. And no, not even her." His gaze went up to the ceiling where he studied a speck of dirt, wondering how it got there.

"Why not?"

"I didn't dance with anyone because you're not here."

She had a hard time believing he was being such a buzzkill. Or that her not being there was having that effect on him. "Come on. Adam, you're surrounded by gorgeous women out there."

"I'm surrounded by gorgeous women in my whole life. My Best Man is one of the most incredible women I've ever known. The entire world is filled with amazing women. So what? I'm only marrying one amazing woman. I only love one amazing woman."

She said nothing. He had knocked her sideways again.

"The girl who gave me a facial today is probably in some fancy hotel room tonight, getting it on with Orlando Bloom."

"Adam!"

"No, you should've seen them." He was perfectly serious. "There's definitely some history there."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And you know how actors are. He's probably taping the whole thing."

* * *

_Saturday, December 11, 2010_

It was a perfectly sunny day, and almost too nice to spend time indoors. Not having to be in any meetings today, Adam dressed more casually, in jeans and a t-shirt. While Henry went off to go Christmas shopping, Adam went to the CAC – The California Arts Center. He'd read about the place and he'd always wanted to go there. Ever the pragmatist, his shopping was already done. Though he certainly would buy something special from LA for Joan if he ran across the right thing.

Later that evening, Henry called him to ask if he wanted to go out. He didn't. He'd seen enough of the LA night life—and it wasn't really his thing in the first place. He told Henry he was going to have to do the partying on his own. Henry told him he didn't deserve to be young. But Adam knew he'd be better off staying in the hotel at night for the rest of the trip. He could eat in the hotel bar. He could call Joan and talk to her until she fell asleep. Most nights that had happened around midnight Eastern, which was only nine pm for him. After she drifted off, he would either work on the project, or watch TV.

But Saturday night's conversation went well into the morning. Joan remarked that since all they could do was talk, they were getting to know each other in a way that hadn't really been possible in their everyday life. They were telling each other stories they'd never had the time to tell before. Even across the miles, it felt very intimate.

* * *

_Sunday, December 12, 2010 _

Sunday night, Joan finally fell asleep about 12:30. Henry was out gallivanting. Adam watched TV until he couldn't stand it anymore. He wasn't tired at all and he didn't want to lie awake all night, so he decided to go down to the bar. A beer might help him wind down so that he could fall asleep.

He was delighted to see that the Emerald was fairly empty and that they had Bass on tap. He wasn't really in the mood to talk, but the bartender, Jaime turned out to be a very persuasive conversationalist. They struck up a nice little chat. Adam told him all about his first trip to LA and about missing Joan. Before long, he was joined at the empty bar by two of the regulars—Bob, a traveling salesman and Julian, an older gay gent who lived nearby and came to the Emerald for the calamari.

Two beers and a plate of Gold & Purple chicken nachos later, Adam witnessed a sight he had never before seen—a throng of people pressing their way into the bar all at once. Noting his confused expression, Jaime explained, "Overflow from the Lakers game."

"Ah, cool."

"Happens every game night."

* * *

_Wednesday, December 15, 2010_

It had been a whole week since she held him, a whole week without his kisses. As fascinating and intense as some of their conversations had been, it wasn't enough. Not nearly.

It was no easier for him. When he first called her that night, their conversation became highly sexually charged. When they hung up, he was incredibly antsy. He couldn't even lie still in bed. So he went down to the Emerald.

"Can't sleep?" Jaime asked.

"Nope."

"Bass?"

"Yeah, but also, I'm gonna shock you by having a shot. You got Bushmill's Black?"

"Sure," Jaime nodded, put a glass on the bar and poured one up for him.

Joan couldn't sleep either. At 1 AM her time, she called him back.

He was still in the bar and he was buzzed. But he immediately said good night to Jaime and went back to his room so he could talk to her. They picked up pretty much where they left off. Tonight, the only thing they could think of to talk about was how they missed each other.

"I can't get comfortable without you," she told him. "Maybe I should open a bottle of wine and get a nice little buzz on like you."

"Nah, it's too late for you to start drinking. Maybe you could take a nice bubble bath."

"Mmmmmmmm. Now, there's an idea."

While she ran a bath, he brushed his teeth, stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers and climbed into his empty hotel bed, putting his phone on speaker and laying it on the bedside table. She put hers on the shelf by the tub, stripped all the way down and slipped into the water. "Ooooooooohhhh. Very hot," she said as her body adjusted to the temperature.

"Yes, you are," he sighed.

She laughed as she settled in and sat down.

He listened to the water slosh and found it very comforting and alluring. He smiled and settled in too.

She leaned back against the bath pillow and splashed hot, soapy water over her breasts, feeling her nipples harden as she did so.

And he knew what she did. He'd bathed with her, he'd done it to her himself. He could see her back arch with the pleasurable sensation. He suddenly wasn't sure it was such a good idea to suggest she sit in a hot bubble bath and talk to him. How was he going to continue to survive being apart from her like this?

"Jane, have you ever—" he trailed off.

"What?" she asked.

"You know, uh... gotten yourself off."

"Of course, honey."

Just like that, so matter of fact. He was awash in a cocktail of relief and intrigue. "When?"

"When what?"

"When have you done it?"

"Well, not lately, if that's what you mean. What about you? When have you done it? When did you start?"

"Guys don't 'start', Jane. We come out of the womb touching ourselves. We just getter better at it over the years."

She laughed, even though she knew he wasn't really joking.

"How old were _you_ the first time?" he asked her.

"Like, fourteen? I discovered it totally by accident."

"Accident?" He was even more intrigued now.

"Yeah, I had no idea what I was doing."

"How did it happen?"

"Well, it was when we lived in Chicago, and I had my first boyfriend."

"See, I always knew there was somebody before me, but you would never tell me."

"He was no competition, trust me. It was just, you know, it was all brand new and kinda scary... and exhilarating. The first time he French-kissed me, I felt like I wanted to throw up."

Now, it was his turn to laugh. "Why?"

"I don't know! I liked him and he was a good kisser, but... I'm still not sure if it was my gag reflex or if I was just freaked out because I was feeling things in parts of my body that I'd never really been aware of before. It got better. Way better," she said, unable to suppress a grin.

He heard it in her voice. His face went flush.

"Making out was... pretty awesome," she went on.

"That's the way I always felt with you when we first got together," he said so softly, so sweetly it touched her core. "I still do."

"God, me too," she sighed dreamily.

"So tell me how you have _that _accident."

"Well, it was the making out that did it. I'd get so... well, you know. And this guy would try to push the envelope whenever he could, but he never went too far, he never got inside my clothes. At all. That's where I drew the line. But I would leave him and I'd be just insanely... turned on. Then this one night, I was kind of flopped across my bed, writing in my diary about what we'd been doing earlier that day, and I kind of rolled over a stuffed animal or something, and it hit me in just the right spot. And that was it. I didn't really understand it at the time, but I kept going after that feeling. It took a while to figure out what I was doing, but eventually I got pretty good at it."

His jaw was slack. He could just picture everything she described. The idea blew him away. It took him a while to find enough of his voice to whisper, "Were you doing it when we were together in school?"

"Oh, yeah."

He didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what that meant.

"Adam?"

Still nothing. No idea.

"Honey, you do understand that it's a compliment, right?"

"Is it?"

"Come on, you were doing it too, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but..."

"But what?"

"Well... I'm a guy."

She laughed at him, but gently, not mockingly. He was still so naïve about women. "Sweetie, guys do not have a monopoly on masturbation. I was a kid and I was scared to death to actually have sex, but you and me, we were so... and I was... well, it's only natural."

"Yeah," he said. She had a point. If he hadn't had that release valve, he never would've survived the intensity of their relationship in high school. Why shouldn't she have her release as well? And yeah, he guessed it did mean she really loved him and was turned on by him if she needed it too. It made sense. It wasn't that she didn't want him. She just honestly wasn't ready yet.

He understood that it was different for girls. Especially girls like Joan. Girls with caring, involved parents and a really decent, moral center. She was God's girl, after all. She needed to be loved, honored and cherished. Just like the vows said. He sent up a silent prayer that God would always find him worthy to be the man to do so.

"Baby?" she whispered when he didn't say anything more.

"Huh?"

"Are you wigged out?"

"No way!"

"Are you sure?"

"How do you do it?" he asked, as if to say, I'm cool with it already, just spill.

"Pillows, mostly."

"Pillows?"

"Yeah, I've never been able to get there with my hand."

"You get there with _my_ hand, don't you?"

She laughed. "That's different. I don't know, with my hand, it's... Well, maybe because it takes deliberate action, thinking. And I really only wanna feel."

"You never used a vibrator or anything?"

"I have, actually. I bought one when my relationship ended in college. It was... kinda like part of getting over the whole thing."

"You still have it?"

"In a box somewhere, in all that junk from the apartment."

"In your closet?"

"Or in the attic. Really, I have no idea."

"Maybe you could find it," he suggested.

"Don't want to."

"No?"

"It's not about anatomy. For women—for me—it's more emotional than anything else. I just love the way we feel together."

He broke out in a light sheen of sweat just thinking about the way their bodies felt together, and found it necessary to kick off the bed covers. "Me too."

"All I need is you right here talking to me. I just hold you in my head and in my heart and the rest takes care of itself... You know, I never thought about this before, but you're responsible for all my best orgasms, even when I was alone."

Her words went right to his gut. "Oh God, Jane, you own all of mine too."

"Well, if that ain't love, I don't know what is."

He laughed, but there was something a little more delicious going on as well.

"Have you done it since you've been gone?" she asked boldly.

"Um, well, yeah. Once. In the shower. Sunday morning."

Silence.

"Well, you know, that _is_ ourtime," he reasoned. "And I just— All I could think about when I woke up was being home with you."

"How often have you done it since we've been back together?"

"Come on, when have I ever needed to?"

"You tell me."

"OK... once before."

"When?"

"When you went back on the pill and we decided to wait a week."

"Ah, OK."

"What about you?"

"Actually, I thought about it that same week. And I kinda thought about it Sunday, too," she admitted with a giggle.

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know. I just... didn't. I'll tell you a little secret; sometimes, just imagining it is enough."

"Really?" This conversation was surely an education for him.

"Sometimes."

"And now? What about now? How are you feeling right now?"

"Like I wish you'd get on a plane and come home to me this very instant," she said with a tinge of regret in her voice.

"I wish I could too. I'd chuck it all and take the first flight out if I there was any way."

"I know. I just wanna see you so badly."

"Me too. You have no idea," he sighed, adjusting himself so that it was a little less painful.

"Are you— Do you have a boner?"

"Yeah, I kinda do."

"Because of me or because you and Henry are hanging out with all these beautiful women?"

"What? Henry's hanging out with women. Baby, I'm right here in my room, talking to you every night. You're the only woman I can even think about. Come on, you know all my boners are about you."

"They'd better be," she laughed.

He did too.

"So Henry's really sowing his wild oats, huh?"

"Well, you know his divorce was just finalized and he's been alone for a long time. He's about to pop. He really needs to cut loose. It's kind of natural for him to want to get back out there, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I've never been divorced."

"From your lips to God's ear you'll always be able to say that, for the rest of your life."

"Don't," she suddenly said.

"What? What'd I do?"

"You just said one of those perfect things that always makes me wanna kiss you."

"Oh... Close your eyes," he said slyly.

"Why?"

"Close 'em."

"OK." She did so, putting her hand over them to make sure they stayed closed.

Silence.

"Adam?" she said. "They're closed."

"Shhhhh. I'm kissing you. Shhhhh..."

She smiled and played along, feeling the tiniest little tickle of delight in her belly. "Oh, yeah, baby," she cooed jokingly, "I feel it."

They both broke into laughter. Even on their most intense days, they'd never had a "conversation" like this.

When they sobered, he said, "I'm sorry. That was kind of silly."

"So?" was Joan's reply. What was the harm? After all, they'd never been apart for a week before.

"So..." he whispered.

"Kiss me again."

"I am."

"Mmmmmmmmm..."

"God, Jane, sometimes I can barely stand how much I love you."

"Is that you or the distance talking?"

"What do you think?"

"I think I feel exactly the same way. And I'd still tell you so even if you were right here."

A long, low moan flowed out of Adam. "If I was right there..." he sighed dreamily.

"If you were here..." she hesitated, just long enough, "what would you want me to do to you?"

He actually gulped and lay back with his eyes closed. What did he want her to do? He hadn't expected that question. But wasn't it delicious? She'd thrown him again.

"First, get out of the tub and let me dry you off."

"Mmmm. OK." She stood and pulled the plug, taking the towel down from the rack and closing her eyes as she imagined him going over body with it. "Now, what?" she asked when she was done. She blew out the candles in the bathroom as she awaited his instructions.

"Go lie on the bed."

She took the phone into their bedroom and put it on her bedside table as she stretched out for him.

"And?"

He paused to consider, before saying, "For starters, you can kiss me until neither of us can breathe."

"Yessss..."

Her voice was so smoky, it got to him in a way he never expected. "Wow," he whispered.

"What?"

"We're so far apart, but I close my eyes and I can see you right here. I feel like I could just reach out and touch you."

"Oh, I wish you would."

"How should I touch you?"

"Any way you want to."

"_Any_ way?"

"Any. But you have to describe it to me."

"Oh, no. I want you to tell me what you want."

"What I want? I want to kiss your beautiful lips. I want them and your gorgeous hands on my breasts. I want to feel how tight you hold me sometimes. I want to taste you. All of you."

"Me too," he almost gasped. Even though he wasn't sure how much more he could take, he sighed, "Jane, you're so..." there was no word adequate to express it.

"What?"

"It's just, I... The things we've done, the places we've done them... I never dreamed you'd love sex so much."

"I don't love sex. I love _you_. I was never like this before."

"Like what?"

"Insatiable."

"Not with your other guy?"

"What other guy?"

"Your college guy."

"Oh. No, definitely not with him."

"It wasn't good?"

"Baby, I didn't know what good was."

He blushed. He actually blushed. And his belly grew tight with that delicious low down tickle. He wasn't sure he could hold out much longer. Still, it was too intriguing to stop. "When did you know?"

"The first time I was with you."

Oh God, he was in trouble. "Jane..." he sighed.

"Yeah...?"

"I'm aching for you right now."

"Me too," she whispered.

"What are we gonna do about this?"

"Sweetie, I'm already doing it."

"Jane!"

"What?"

He went silent for several seconds and just listened as her breathing became rhythmic. Was she really...? No way! "What are you doing?" he asked as his hand went south until he found the waistband of his boxers.

"Where's your hand?" she asked in answer, as if she could read his mind.

"It's... I'm..." he trailed off. He didn't want to say it.

"Oh God, are we really gonna do this?" she whispered.

"At this point, my only alternative is a very cold shower."

"No, stay with me," she pleaded.

"I'm here."

"Tel me what you want," she said breathlessly.

"I want you laying on top of me. Your hair's brushing my face."

"God, yes!"

"Jane?" he whispered, as he shivered a little.

"Mmmhmmm?" came her extremely relaxed reply.

"You OK?"

"Oh, yeah," she sighed happily as she lay there, spent.

He could hear the smile in her voice and he was relieved. No shame. Guilt-free phone sex. How cool was that? "I love you so much," he told her.

"I love you more," she answered, completely relaxed.

"Impossible."

Within ten minutes, they were both asleep.

_Thursday, December 16, 2010_

The next morning, Joan had a terrible time getting up. Especially since he wasn't there to kiss her awake after their surprising night "together". She hadstayed up so ridiculously late, but oh how it had been worth it. She felt OK, but she couldn't help moving very slowly. To everyone at work, she apparently seemed hung over but strangely glowy. It was kind of frustrating because she didn't really have any friends at work who were close enough to tell about how her lonely evening had ended up. Maybe the experience was meant just for them. But God, it was so delicious!

Adam awoke feeling brand new. Finally, he had slept normally. Deeply.

The only dream he could remember was the last one he had. What he remembered of it was white linens on a backyard clothesline, wet and flapping in the breeze, snapping. He always loved that strange sound. Wow, he could even smell the Clorox. He saw his mother in a white sleeveless dress, laughing at the wind as her long red curls cascaded around her face and over her bare arms. And then he saw Joan in a pale yellow dress with tiny flowers along the bottom. Her almost-wedding dress, he recalled. She fought her way through long rows of flapping, flopping wet white linens on a ceaseless series of clotheslines. Her eyes were downcast, her pace was almost aimless, or hopeless. He looked at her feet and saw her white shoes sink into brown mud.

But before the mud reached her ankles, she rose up out of her shoes and into the safety of their backyard. She stood barefoot in the lush grass and he watched from the doorway of their house as his sculptures and Jamal's mural morphed into living things. Watching this, all he and Joan could do was laugh merrily.

And then the clock went off.

* * *

_Friday, December 17, 2010_

By close of business on Friday, the deal was sealed. Liquid Designs had won the contract. Henry insisted on taking Adam out for a celebration that night. He agreed, but all he could really think about was booking a flight home right away. Before he would leave the hotel, he and Henry sat down and found a couple of seats through on a Monday afternoon flight. It was going to be the soonest they could get out. Henry produced the company card and Adam booked it.

* * *

_Monday, December 20, 2010_

He would be home at ten. In time for Christmas by a few days after all. She was so relieved. She'd busted her ass around the house on Saturday to get it ready for his return. She and Karen went out and bought a tree. Then they decorated it and the mantle and the rest of the front room, with a little help from Helen. Joan wanted everything to be perfect. And it was. On Sunday, she'd even baked cookies and made some nicely spiked egg nog.

Tonight, she lit fragrant candles everywhere and turned off all the electric lights, save for the ones on the tree. It was absolutely gorgeous. She couldn't wait for him to walk through the door. Around eight, she decided to relax and soften up for him by languishing in a hot bubble bath.

She reclined against the bath pillow in the yellowy glow of the bathroom, listening to the radio, her hair pinned up, but not staying in place very well.

She didn't hear him come in downstairs. He was trying to be stealthy. He didn't tell her that he had convinced Henry to get them on a standby list so they could take an earlier flight if possible. And that they'd lucked out.

He crept through the house, amazed at how beautiful she had made the house for the holiday. He snuck up the stairs and found her in the bath. Her eyes were closed and she hummed along to one of those ancient, mushy Goo Goo Dolls songs she loved. He watched her from the doorway for a long time before he whispered, "Hey beautiful."

She started and covered her mouth. "Oh God, you're here!"

"I'm here." He went to her and kneeled by the tub. She soaked him in warm, bubbly hazelnut and vanilla water and her boundless affection.

"Get in," she said.

"Get out," he countered. He grabbed her towel and held it up, watching, waiting. She moved into it and he dried her off, kissing her face, and her neck and on down as he went, very softly and sensually. She tasted of vanilla and spice and pure deliciousness.

When he stood again and began to gently dry her hair, she reached out and unbuttoned his shirt. She could not resist moving her hands over his chest, feeling almost unbearably happy to just touch him again.

That simple act stopped him in his tracks. He dropped the towel and took her in his arms, pressing her bare skin against his. Every nerve ending came alive with the heat between them. He lunged desperately for her mouth with his own and she drank him in.

She could feel excitement mounting in him just as it was in her. How the hell had she stood not holding him for almost two weeks? His hands slid lower as he pulled her to him hungrily. Why was he still wearing pants? She broke their kiss and fought for enough air to speak his name, "Adam— Adam."

He looked at her, puzzled and she reached down for the waistband of his jeans. He laughed at himself and his haste as she popped the button and unzipped his fly. "Ohhhh, Jane..."

His head went back, eyes closed. She moved into his arms and kissed his throat. He smelled so good. He tasted even better.

"Mmmm..." he moaned as a shiver of anticipation rolled over him, "let's not do this standing in the bathroom. Let's get comfortable."

He backed away from her a little and took both her hands, threading their fingers together, pulling her along with him. He backed into the bedroom and right up to the bed.

A tiny, delighted squeak came from her as she pushed him onto his back and he pulled her on top of him. "Baby, I missed you so much," she whispered.

He unpinned her hair and let it fall over his face as she kissed him—just the way he had described to her. It was damp around the edges and it tickled. The scent of the bath oil on her warm, damp skin was intoxicating.

She was holding her baby again.

The twelve day fast was over.

The distance between them was now only a memory.


	25. Probation :: Part 1: With A Little Help

_**Chapter 22**_  
**Probation**

**- Part 1: With A Little Help From My Friends -**

_by TeeJay & Sisterdebmac_

* * *

_**TeeJay's Author's Note:**  
"How do I feel by the end of the day? (Are you sad because you're on fyour own?) No, I get by with a little help from my friends. Mmm, I get high with a little help from my friends. Mmm, I'm gonna to try with a little help from my friends." —The Beatles_

_This chapter started out as a tiny, tiny idea. The beginnings of it were inspired by the Dispatch song "Time Served" (see Author's Notes of Part 2 for more on the song). I started working on it and it grew and grew, and more ideas surfaced as I wrote and discussed it with Deb. I finally released a first, very rough draft to Deb and she took it to whole new levels. Thank you for making this an awesome chapter, girl!_

_**Deb's Author's Note:**  
I seem to remember the whole thing started from a nagging desire Adam had to do something to help people the way Joan does. I guess the Universe heard him because next thing you know, God appears with an idea for something Adam can do. And we're off._

_This one got a little long on us, folks. Hence the need to break it into parts._

_And thanks to all the readers of Butterflies, especially those of you who have reviewed it. We couldn't do this without you._

_In this story, we mention several real charitable organizations. You can find more information on their respective websites. Big Brothers & Big Sisters can be found at: www-bbbs-org. FHA/HUD: www-hud-gov. Fannie Mae:_ www-_fanniemae-com, and Habitat For Humanity: www-habitat-org._

_**Chapter Synopsis:**  
An assignment from God has Adam take a job as art teacher at Hogan Juvy, helping out a friend along the way._

_**Synopsis for Part 1:**  
When Joan shares her latest assignment with Adam, he offers to help out. However, Joan isn't exactly thrilled with the idea._

_**Rating For Chapter: PG-13**__ for strong language, violence & adult themes._

_**Rating for Part 1: PG**_

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool. _

* * *

"Chicken wings, definitely feel like chicken wings. I'm thinking Honey BBQ, or maybe Cajun," Adam said as he held the door open for Joan to enter Wings & Things on their lunch break.

She put her fingers to her lips. "I think it's more of a catfish day for me."

The nametag on the young girl's yellow and blue t-shirt said Caitlin, Adam and Joan followed her to the table by the window that she showed them. Just as Joan was about to sit down, a familiar looking gray-haired man in a blue jumpsuit walked by their table. Not even having taken her jacket off, Joan said to Adam, "Excuse me a minute."

He first gave her a bit of a confused frown, then figured she probably just needed a potty break. Before she left, she said to Adam, "Get me a half and half iced tea, will you?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, taking another look at the menu.

She followed the janitor to the back of the restaurant where the restrooms were. When they were out of earshot of any customers or personnel, He stopped and turned around. "Hello Joan, it's nice to see you still recognize me like this. It's been a while."

She raised her eyebrows. "Yeah. The last time you showed up looking like this was in high school. No, wait, I think there was that one time in the hotel in Florida. The maid who was being abused?"

"I see your memory's still good," He dryly commented.

"So, what's this about?" she asked.

"Oh, right to the chase, huh?"

"With your kind permission, of course," she snarked. "I only have 45 minutes to spend with my husband-to-be for lunch, so I'd like to make this quick, if you don't mind."

"All right," He agreed. "You remember Jamal?"

"The kid who did the mural on our shed wall? Of course I do."

"Make sure he is getting what he needs."

Joan looked at Him, waiting for a forthcoming explanation or instructions. When she didn't get any, she said exasperatedly, "What is that supposed to mean? We paid him for the great work he did. Are you saying the hundred bucks we gave him wasn't enough?"

Janitor-God just gave her one of His knowing looks. She sighed. "Okay, so you're not saying that. And you're not gonna tell me anything more about it either. I get it."

"You'll know what to do," He said with conviction in His voice.

She nodded, and when her eyes fell on Adam, sitting at the table in the distance, she suddenly had a thought. "Would it be okay to ask Adam for help? I mean, now that he knows... you know... about you. He has a much better connection to Jamal than I do."

After Caitlin took the drink orders, Adam was left staring at the menu. He decided on the Cajun chicken wings meal deal but would have to wait for Joan to come back to order their food. His eyes wandered around the room, studying the other customers. There were a few people in business clothes, probably also on their lunch breaks, he mused.

Then his eyes fell upon the hallway to the restrooms and caught on Joan talking to a stranger. No, not a stranger. The guy looked vaguely familiar, but Adam couldn't really place him. He was dressed like a janitor, but Adam still had no idea where he might have seen him before. He could usually rely on his photographic memory to remember most visual cues, but very often he had problems connecting them to situations that were associated with them. Like other people showing you their vacation pictures—you would take in the scenery but you couldn't explain the circumstances of how and why the picture was taken.

He racked his brain as to where he might have seen the guy before. At work? He couldn't come up with anything. And then it hit him. He couldn't imagine why Joan would talk to a stranger in a janitor's uniform, unless it was... Him. Could it be that that's why he looked familiar? Must be. Adam's eyes never left the two of them as they continued to talk.

"Joan, you can ask anyone for help that you want to. I never said you couldn't," Janitor-God told Joan.

"You never said I could either."

"Do what you think is best. That's what you've been doing all along, isn't it?"

She resigned to her fate. He was not going to tell her anything more than He had to, as usual. "All right, I'll check up on Jamal. Now, would you mind if I had lunch with Adam?"

He gave her a smile. "Enjoy your meal."

With those words He walked away, giving her a wave over His shoulder. Joan stood there for a few seconds before she went back to join Adam at the table.

As soon as she sat down and began wrestling her way out of her jacket, he asked, "Did you just talk to God?"

Joan's eyes darted around nervously, wondering if anyone within earshot might have heard Adam's question. "Adam, I don't think we should talk about this in public. Imagine someone overhearing that."

He became a little more self-conscious. "Sorry," he said, lowering his voice. "So, did you?"

"Yes."

"What did He say?"

Her voice was getting a little impatient. "Look, can we order first? I'm really hungry."

He tried not to show the disappointment at her rather direct rebuttal. Did she not want to share it with him? Was she feeling uncomfortable about it all of a sudden? Did it involve him in the end? "Yeah, sure," he said. "Have you already chosen?"

She scanned the menu. "I don't know. Didn't I say catfish? The meal deal sounds good."

Just then, as if on cue, Caitlin came back to the table to bring their drinks. They ordered their meals, Caitlin bustled off and Joan sipped at her iced tea, then drew a face. "Did you order a half and half?"

"Yes, why?"

"This is unsweet."

"It is?"

"Yes, it _is_," she said pointedly. "What, you think I'm lying?"

He looked at her. "Jane, what's wrong? Why are you on edge?"

She sighed. "I don't know. I don't know why I'm irritated all of a sudden. Maybe because He was being as vague as always. Maybe because right now I'm starving and I have a headache and I don't really feel like running errands I don't have time for, much less when I'm not sure where to start."

"If you'll tell me what He said, maybe I can help. Brainstorm. Or research."

"All right." She repeated her conversation with God to him.

When she finished, he rubbed his eyebrow, trying to figure out what God might have meant. "Okay, well, I can give Jamal a call later. He gave me his cell phone number. I'll try to find out what this is all about. How's that for a start?"

She gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, that sounds good."

He reached across the table and took her hand where it rested on her napkin. He stroked it softly, then squeezed it. "We'll handle this one together."

She was just in the process of lifting both their hands and kissing his fingers when their food arrived.

* * *

"Hello?"

Adam was a bit surprised when someone other than Jamal answered his cell phone. A female someone. It took him a second to respond. "Oh, uhm, I was trying to reach Jamal."

"Who's this?" the female voice asked.

"Uh, Adam. Adam Rove."

"Oh, Adam, hello," she said sounding happy to hear his voice. "How are you?"

His brow creased in momentary confusion, then it hit him. "Mrs. Morgan?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Could I speak to Jamal?"

"No, I'm afraid that's not possible." Her voice had a sad tinge to it.

A tiny jolt suddenly went through Adam's heart. She wasn't saying that he was... His train of thought was interrupted by Jamal's mother when she said, "He's in jail. He got nine months this time. He might get out in six or seven with good behavior."

"Oh." Adam didn't really know what to say at first. "I'm sorry to hear that. Can I ask where he is?"

"Same as last time, Hogan County Juvenile Corrections."

A few numb seconds passed before he asked, "Do you think it'd be okay if I visited?"

That seemed to cheer her up a bit. "It's okay by me. I can't say how Jamal might feel about it. He gets all moody in there, tries to act like a tough guy. I guess you kind of have to, to survive. But I do know he really liked you. Just don't be surprised if he's embarrassed for you to see him up there."

"You think I should go?"

"I'd appreciate it of you would. Maybe it'll light a fire under him. He was so excited about that mural of yours, he kept talking about it for days. He's not really a thug, you know. He's just mixed up with the wrong crowd. Maybe it'd do him some good for you to go see him locked up. Maybe you can talk to him, tell him that there's a lot more out there than stealing cars and robbing houses. Make him believe that he really can do something with his art. He's turning 17 soon. Next time he's arrested, there won't be no juvenile court or baby jail. Next time, he goes to the penitentiary."

Adam gulped. He couldn't stand the idea of Jamal ending up in a real prison with hardened criminals. Or worse, dead on the street somewhere. "I'll talk to him, Mrs. Morgan. I don't know how much help I can be, but I'll do my best. I promise."

"Thank you," she said.

Before he hung up, he told her he'd be in touch after seeing Jamal. He considered calling Joan, but he figured this might be a conversation they should have in person, maybe over dinner. He leaned back in his office chair and folded his hands behind his neck, looking at the ceiling.

Maybe he should talk to Brody too. He had worked with the kid at the community center after he was released from Juvy the first time. Maybe Brody could shed some light on how to talk to Jamal. But he wanted to talk it over with Joan first, then he would decide on a further strategy.

* * *

When Adam got to the house from work, Joan was already home. He found her cleaning the bathroom. Where she found the energy to do chores after a full day at work, he didn't know.

She smiled at him standing in the doorway. "Hey honey, how was your day?"

"Oh, uh, okay. The usual. Listen, you got a minute?"

"Is it urgent? I was about to mop the floor, can I finish that?"

He nodded. "Yeah, sure. Need any help?"

"No, I'm almost finished."

She joined him downstairs in the kitchen ten minutes later, stealing a bite of the leftover slice of pizza he had just gotten out of the fridge to snack on. "What's up?" she asked.

"I called Jamal today, but I got his mom on the phone. He's back in jail."

That took Joan a little by surprise. "Oh. Well... that's not good."

"No," he sighed.

She pondered the information for a moment, then said, "Okay, so what does that mean? God told me to make sure Jamal gets what he needs. Is he inside for something he didn't do? Are we supposed to get him a lawyer?"

"Slow down, we don't really know anything yet."

"Did his mother say why he's in jail?"

"No, she only said he's serving nine months. Last time it was burglary, it's probably something like that again. She mentioned stealing cars. Jane, she's really worried about him. She wants me to talk to him, apparently I made a good impression."

"Will you?"

"I owe him that much. I was also thinking about asking Brody for advice since he works with the kids at the community center."

"Good idea."

She was quiet for a moment and he looked at her. "Something wrong?"

"No. I don't know. This feels weird."

"Why?"

"Because you're doing _my_ assignment."

"How's that wrong?"

"I don't know," she said again. "I feel like I should be doing something more."

"Wouldn't God interfere if you went wrong, if involving me wasn't the right thing to do?" he asked.

"No. No, it's more likely He'd stand back and let me mess it all up on my own. The free will thing, remember? He gives me the assignments, but what I do with them is up to me."

"And has it ever gone wrong?" he challenged her.

"Your sculpture?"

"Oh yeah."

"He knew what I was gonna do before I did and He didn't stop me then."

"But you still did what He asked you to do. You kept me from quitting school."

"Yeah, at what cost?"

He took hold of her upper arms and rubbed them gently. "I'm sure we're on the right track here. Let me take some of the load off your shoulders on this one. I want to help, okay?"

She gave him a smile. "Okay."

"I'll call Hogan tomorrow, ask about visiting times."

"Sounds good."

* * *

Adam would be lying if he said he wasn't intimidated. The concrete building, the bulky, heavily-armed guards, the cold and uninviting atmosphere; The Hogan County Juvenile Correctional Facility looked just like the prisons in the movies, and he wasn't sure if he should find that frightening or reassuring.

He fought to swallow down his initial anxiety, telling himself he was only visiting and he'd be back in the fresh air of the outside world soon. He had no idea what to expect from seeing Jamal. Would he appreciate the unexpected visit? Would he be able to get through to him? It scared him to think that it might already be too late for Jamal to get back on the right track.

Drawing in a deep breath, he slammed the Forester's door shut and walked up to the visitor's entrance. For a fleeting second he wished he had accepted Joan's offer to come with him, but he had insisted it would be better if he went alone.

After he told the guard on duty who he was there to see, he was buzzed in and searched for any sensitive items that were not allowed inside. When they found none, he was directed through bleak corridors to a just-like-in-the-movies visitor's room with a few tables and chairs where young men in light blue scrubs sat, talking with their moms or dads or sweethearts.

Adam' scanned the room for Jamal, and found him at a table in the corner. When he walked up, he could see the surprise on Jamal's face.

"You? You're my visitor?" Jamal asked.

"Yep." Adam sat down opposite him.

"What are you doing here?" It didn't sound very inviting.

"Hello to you too," Adam quipped, hoping the sarcasm would lighten up the atmosphere a little.

Jamal just leaned back in his chair, a cool and almost calculating expression on his face, saying nothing.

Adam drew in a breath. This was gonna be difficult. What could he say to break the ice? "So, how are they treating you in here?"

Jamal tried his best to look stoic. "All right."

Adam waited for more, but apparently that was all he was going to get. He looked for another way in. After a moment, he said, "Joan says hi. You know, she really loves the mural. Every time we look at it, we get lost in it. We just keep seeing new things."

"Oh yeah?" Jamal's face remained neutral.

There was an uncomfortable pause before Adam asked the next question. "Are you working on your art in here? Did they ever find a new teacher?"

"Nah, man. All I do in here is mop floors and fold laundry and shit."

"You're not taking art because there's no teacher, or…?"

Jamal merely folded his arms over his chest and leaned back.

Adam couldn't suppress a sigh. "Jamal, come on, help me out here."

"Help you with what, man?"

"I'm trying to have a conversation with you."

Jamal's expression became more provocative. "Why? What do you want from me? What's up with this little pity visit? You expect me to believe you care or something?"

Adam bristled, leaning forward in his seat. "You might not wanna believe it, but yeah, I do care. Why are you back in here?" He let the question hang in the air for a second or two before he went on, "I thought you told me Brody screwed your head back on straight. What the hell happened?"

"Guess I kinda messed up."

Adam pondered this for a moment. So Jamal was actually guilty, whatever had happened. God's assignment was not about Jamal being in Juvy for something he hadn't done. "How?"

"I don't wanna talk about it, okay?"

"Look, I know you don't wanna hear this, but I came to help."

"Who says I need your help?" Jamal fell back into sarcasm. "I got everything I need, don't I? Great food, loving friends, plenty of exercise. What more could I possibly want?"

Okay, this was going absolutely nowhere. How could he do anything if he didn't know what the situation was? And Jamal seemed to have no interest in opening up about it. He was nearing his wit's end. He knew there was no way to get the kid to talk if he really didn't want to. He stood and drew his business card out of his back pocket, putting it on the table between them. "If you need anything, anything at all, just call me."

Jamal leaned back again, deliberately ignoring the card. "Yeah, whatever."

Adam nodded slowly and turned away from him. He had accomplished exactly nothing by coming here. He was certain that Jamal would either leave his card right there on the table, untouched. Or he'd rip it up the second he was gone. Hopefully, Jamal's cold demeanor was just an act.

Outside the visitor's room, Adam hesitated. Jamal hadn't answered his question about the art class. He couldn't leave without knowing whatever happened with it.

Filled with new purpose, he went back to the desk at the visitor's entrance, and addressed the guard. "Excuse me? If I wanted to talk to someone about the graphic arts program here, who would I ask?"

The guy looked at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, then it seemed to come to him. "Mr. O'Connell, I think."

"Oh, is he here? Can I speak to him?"

"I'll see if he's available." The guard took out a folder that looked like a list of internal telephone numbers. He dialed a number and had words with the person on the other end. After a minute, he held the phone away from his ear and addressed Adam again. "There's a phone there on the wall, I'll transfer Mr. O'Connell to you."

Adam thanked him and walked over to the phone, lifting the receiver just as the call went through. "Mr. O'Connell?"

"Yes," came a voice from the other end.

"My name is Adam Rove and I was wondering if you were still looking for a teacher for your graphic arts class."

There was a short silence, then Mr. O'Connell answered, "We were planning to discontinue it actually because no one seemed interested in the position."

"I might be."

"May I ask how you heard about it? We stopped advertising for the position a while ago."

"It's... it's kind of a long story, to be honest," Adam admitted. "What would I have to do to apply?"

"Tell you what, Mr. Rove, let me send someone to bring you to my office and we can continue this discussion in person."

A guard escorted Adam down a long hallway to a row of administrative offices near the front of the complex. When he entered, Mr. O'Connell stood and offered his hand. He was a stout looking man in his mid-forties, Adam guessed. He offered Adam a seat and Adam proceeded to explain how he knew about the art class and why he would like to apply for the teaching job. They talked about some of his preliminary ideas, and what would be expected of Adam if he took the job. Adam's first impression was very positive. And O'Connell seemed to like the cut of his jib too. Or they were just that desperate for a teacher.

When they finished talking after twenty minutes, Mr. O'Connell saw him out, shaking his hand again. "Well, Mr. Rove, I think we might have just found ourselves a new graphic arts teacher. Just e-mail me with your resume. We'll do a background check and if everything works out, we'll have you back in next week for an orientation meeting with the correctional programs director and the head CO"

"Thank you," Adam replied. "I'll send it right away."

As he walked back to the car, Adam wondered what Joan would say. He really had no idea. What he was pretty sure about was that she would understand his desire to do something to help others. But just maybe she would be a little put off by the fact that it was in prison. He was already working on how to break the news to her the gentlest way possible.

* * *

"No," Joan said flatly.

"No?" he repeated.

"Doesn't matter how you spin it. It's too dangerous."

"Jane, there'll be a guards right outside the room at all times."

"So?"

"So, it's okay. It's safe."

"Don't do this."

He leaned forward across the kitchen table, his hands lying palms-up on the tabletop, begging. "Jane—"

She leaned back, away from him, exasperation on her face. "Why would you take a job in a _prison_ without even asking me?"

His defenses went up. "I didn't realize I needed your permission."

"It's not about that. Don't be petty. Adam, I really don't want you to do this. It terrifies me."

He took a breath, trying to calm himself down. Escalating the situation wasn't going to help matters, so he made himself very still and looked her right in the eye. "Will you just hear me out?"

She melted under his gaze. Finally, she nodded reluctantly.

"First of all, I haven't taken the job yet. I mean, yes, I guess it's mine if I want it. But I wasn't gonna just accept it without seeing if you're okay with it."

"I am very _not_ okay with it!" she interjected.

He shushed her. "Hear. Me. Out." He watched her fold her arms in front of her chest, and raise her eyes defiantly to the ceiling. Still, he picked up right where he left off and carried on in his most convincing manner, "Secondly, this is the only way I can think of to get through to Jamal. That's what God wants, right?"

She shrugged at him.

He persevered. "He totally blew me off today. I have no idea how to reach him except through his art." He paused for a moment, locking eyes with her again. "I can do this, Jane. You just gotta have a little faith in me. I know it won't be easy, but when are God's assignments ever easy for _you_?"

She visibly wavered at that question. Her features softened a little. She released the breath she'd been holding. "Just for a minute, let's assume we agree on you doing this, you swear to me that it's safe? That you'll be careful?"

"Absolutely."

She studied him for several seconds, trying to imagine him in front of a roomful of guys twice as big as him and a hundred times meaner. Of course she had no idea who the "artistic" kids were in juvenile lock-up. She tried to comfort herself by imagining them as Adam with a few more bad breaks. That was kind of how she saw Jamal.

"_If _we agree on this, how's it gonna work? You can't just leave the studio during your normal working hours, can you? How often would you have to go there?"

"When I talked to Mr. O'Connell, we agreed on an 8-week trial program at first. Two hours every Sunday afternoon."

Joan visibly narrowed her eyes. "Sunday afternoon," she repeated. "Great. There goes our alone time. You wanna lose the only real time we get to spend together? Can't you do this during the week, after work or something?"

He had to try hard not to get irritated. "No, I can't. This is when they want to do it. It's not in my control." He reached across the table now and took her hand, speaking very carefully to make it clear to her. "Jane, this is really important to me." He paused, waiting, but she didn't budge. "You don't honestly think I'd give up spending all day Sunday with you for just any old thing, do you?"

He gave her a crooked, suggestive smile and that got her attention. She returned it and squeezed his hand. They both relaxed a little. "You know, it's not just Jamal. These few past weeks, I've been thinking a lot about this. I mean, not this specifically, but just..."

He drew in a breath, trying to collect his thoughts. "Ever since you told me about talking to God, it's been nagging at me. I didn't really understand it at first, but I kept thinking about how you do all these wonderful things, help people, create good ripples. And what do _I_ do?"

There was confusion on her face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I want to be like you someday, you're my hero. I mean, I... I just work and enjoy my little world here at home with you, hanging out, doing my art, trying to learn how to be a good husband in time for the wedding," he teased.

She smiled. He finally made her smile. "And you are wonderful at all of those things," she told him.

"Yeah, but what am I giving back to the world?"

She was flummoxed. She had no idea he felt that way, but it suddenly made sense to her why he would want the job so badly. It took her a few seconds to come up with an answer. "Adam, you've done a lot of good. You already created good ripples for Jamal once."

"Yeah, but I know that I can do more. And I want to. Maybe it's crazy, but you know, your mom did something really amazing for me when I really needed it. She kept me from giving up. And I don't mean just once. And now I have the perfect opportunity to maybe do something like that for someone else, you know? Those kids are just existing in there. Maybe it would mean something for someone to just encourage them not to quit."

She leaned forward, now taking both of his hands in hers. "Boy, you know all my buttons, don't you?"

A smile slowly spread over his lips. "So...?"

"So I can't really argue with that."

"Then, you're okay with it?"

She nodded, still a little reluctantly. "I guess I have to be."

"Even if it interferes with our alone time?"

"We'll work around that. I'll move the Saturday errands to Sunday while you're gone and we'll get a few hours back that we wouldn't have on that day. We'll just have to do our best to make the most of the time we actually have together."

He looked at her with a bit of a twinkle in his eye. "I promise to make the compromise worth your while."

"Oh, you bet you will."

He rose and leaned over to kiss her, whispering, "Thank you."

When he sat back down, she said, "Tell me more about the job itself. What exactly will you be doing?"

"They don't have a formal lesson plan and I'm not sure what kind of art the students are gonna be into. But I do have some ideas about some things we could do." He told her all about things he thought he could draw on from Helen's art class and his college courses. He'd have to do some digging in old school notes, but he was very excited about the whole thing.

Joan chimed in with a few ideas of her own, too. He got a pad of paper and scribbled several pages of notes as they talked. It ended up being like a brainstorming session of sorts, and he felt very confident by the end of it that this might just turn out to be a really cool project.

* * *

_**END PART ONE**_


	26. Probation :: Part 2: Time Served

_**Chapter 22**_  
**Probation**

**- Part 2: Time Served -**

_by TeeJay & Sisterdebmac_

* * *

_**Authors' Note:  
** "__No people here, only names, soon to be put to numbers so it's one and the same. It's anyone's game as long as the fire flickers. The throat stickers, they place their bet, the trouble is that no one's added it up quite yet, cause when they do, when they do, when they do, when they do it'll be a riot and the wire is down. Hold up for the fury to sound. Hold up your head from the ground or they'll keep you on it. Your time, time served to the ones who left you here." —Dispatch_

_This whole chapter grew from a spark that lit an idea in my brain when I (TeeJay) was listening to the Dispatch song "Time Served" in the car one day, as we already explained above. It wasn't so much the actual meaning of the lyrics as more the setting and the atmosphere that the song laid out for me. Thus the idea turned into a story, and here you see the full results that took us months to finish and polish up. We certainly hope it's been worth the long wait._

_Again, thanks to all the readers of Butterflies, especially those of you who have reviewed it. We couldn't do this without you._

_**Synopsis for Part 2:**  
Adam's idea about teaching in Juvy takes shape, but his first class doesn't go as planned._

_**Rating for Chapter: PG-13**__ for strong language, violence & adult themes._

_**Rating for Part 2: PG-13**__ for language._

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool. _

* * *

"That was a tough one, man!" Brody told Adam as they took stools at The Local's main bar after their badminton match. "You really chased me around the court today."

Adam gave him a grin. "I felt pretty good today, but what was up with you? I've never beaten your ass that bad before."

They both ordered a pint of pale ale and Brody replied, "Yeah, well, guess I've got a few things on my mind right now."

"Like what?"

"Uh..." Brody rubbed his face as if he wasn't sure he should get into it with Adam. "You know the Big Brothers and Big Sisters program, right?"

"Sure. Adults volunteer to mentor needy kids."

Brody nodded.

"Oh yeah, you're a Big Brother," Adam recalled.

"Yeah," Brody sighed. "Unfortunately it looks like I suck at it."

"Why, what happened?"

"My Little Bro's in big trouble. Almost got himself killed last week."

"How is that your fault?"

"It's not. I just wish I coulda done something more."

What a coincidence, Adam mused. "I hear ya, man." He was planning to talk to Brody about Jamal tonight, and hearing this made him confident that his buddy might be just the right person to ask about the situation. "Hey, uhm... You remember Jamal?"

"Sure. Haven't seen him around the center for a while."

"You didn't know he's back in jail?"

Brody looked a little shell-shocked. "What? No. Geez. He was doing so well. How did that happen?"

"I don't really know the details. I think he stole some cars or something."

Brody studied the rim of his glass for a few seconds before he looked up. "Sounds familiar."

Adam frowned. "Your Little Brother get caught jacking cars too?"

Brody uttered an ironic chuckle. "No. _I _did."

Now it was Adam's turn to gape. "You? No way!"

"Yeah, I did some pretty stupid stuff when I was a kid. I mean, it wasn't the stereotypical shit, like bad neighborhood or anything. I just hung out with the wrong guys, drank a little, smoked a little weed. I was like 14 or 15 and I was a runt. I just wanted to be cool enough that the cooler, bigger kids wouldn't hassle me. I ended up popping car doors and taking all these fancy gas guzzlers for little joyrides. It wasn't so cool anymore when I got arrested for it. I couldn't get a real driver's license until I was 21."

"Did you do time?"

"Yeah. Three months at first. I was stupid enough not to let that stop me from doing it again. You know, I guess it was kinda like an addiction. When I was 16 and 17, my crew would race the cars we stole, way out in the boonies. It was such an adrenaline rush that I just had to keep going back. Over and over. The second time they caught me, I did thirteen months because I was old enough to be tried as an adult. And this was on a work farm. It was not easy time, man. Kinda scared me straight, that stretch. I also had counseling through a county program and they put me in Big Brothers because I was the only child of a single mom. That's how I got involved. Been staying out of trouble ever since. I still see my Big Bro sometimes. Bruton's this cool jazz saxophonist with these long braids and he's got stories about everything. You'd love him."

"That's why you volunteer with the kids at the community center?" Adam guessed.

"Yeah. I'm trying to kinda pay it forward, you know? Give something that meant a lot to me to other kids who really need it."

Exactly! Brody got it. He pointed a finger at his friend. "I need to run something by you."

"Sure."

Adam told Brody the whole story, about paying Jamal a visit, about the job as art teacher. He told him everything but the God part of the equation. When he was finished, he looked at Brody. "So, what do you think?"

Brody raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like you've got it all planned out. I'd be crazy to stop you."

Adam rubbed his chin. "You know, actually I still kinda wonder if I'm crazy to _do_ this."

"You having doubts?" Brody asked, his voice serious.

"Yeah. No." He sighed. "I don't know. I really want to do it... But," he let out a small, insecure chuckle, "it's prison, you know? These are bad kids. Why would I wanna put myself there?"

"They're not all bad. A lot of them are just confused, but salvageable. You're lookin' at one of those. And all those kids need is somebody like Bruton or you to step up and show them what they can be."

Adam took a sip from his beer and relished the cool, bitter sensation on his tongue. "It sounds so easy when you say it like that."

"Then I said it wrong. Nothing good is ever easy. But you'll do all right." He gave Adam a good-natured slap on the upper arm.

"Yeah," Adam muttered, taking a longer draw from his mug, "hope so."

* * *

Adam Rove wouldn't leave him be. Jamal was lying on his bunk bed, listening to his cell mate, Ricky snore. Over the past two months, he had gotten quite good at tuning it out so that he could sleep. But right now, he just listened, lying on his back with his arms folded behind his neck, thoughts crashing into one another in his head.

What in creation was that dude thinking coming to visit him here? He kind of wished he hadn't been so quick with the cold rebuff so he could've really found out what was on his mind. He couldn't really afford to be chasing people away in his position. He knew that, but he was still aggravated to see his unexpected visitor that day. He wasn't even sure why. Pride? Yeah. Stupid fucking pride.

He liked the guy. Hell, he admired the guy. He was out there doing his art and earning a living with it. He had a nice house and a nice car, a fine woman. Sounded perfectly cool to Jamal. Why couldn't that be him? He was just as good an artist as this cat, or he could be. Why couldn't he do that? Make an honorable living, be creative, make his mama and his baby brother proud.

He'd called home that day and Malcolm was sullen, didn't have much to say. Jamal worried that he was still mad at him for getting locked up and leaving the family. His mother talked as she always did about him doing good time, getting his act together, coming back home to finish up high school and try to get into some college somewhere. He was passing all of his required, GED-focused Juvy classes, but he didn't feel like he was learning a damn thing. It was mostly just memorizing stuff for standardized testing, and memorizing was easy.

He knew there was no way in hell his mom could afford college, and flipping burgers wouldn't pay for it. He'd missed too much high school to qualify for any scholarships. College was just flat-out off the table. When he reminded her of that, she started to cry. He hated it when she did that. It always made him cry too. And crying in the joint just made him angry.

After he hung up, he hit the gym and furiously took on the treadmill, pounding on it until the sweat was dripping off of him. He took a quick, cool shower and then hit the rack in his cell. Looking for a distraction, he picked up a thick compilation graphic novel he'd found in the stacks of the library.

The art was fantastic. It'd be cool as shit to do something like this. He hadn't really done much of anything since he'd been inside. But now he found himself wondering how he could go about getting one of those great big sketch pads and some markers or colored pencils, or something. It was hard to get access to pencils on the inside since they could be weaponized.

Man, he wished the practical art course was still around. At least in there, you could use pencils and paint brushes and shit and give them back at the end of class. He had noticed a week ago that they removed Practical Arts from the sign in the visitor's room that one of the supervisors had put up to show off all the courses the Hogan Juvenile Detention Center offered their student detainees. He figured the day would come when they'd give up on the program, but that didn't make it suck any less when he saw that the day had arrived.

He had stood there staring at the poster, unsure of how he felt about the prospect of the class being gone. For some reason, standing blankly in front of it, he had thought of Adam Rove, how they'd talked about the course when he'd done that outrageous mural on the dude's shed wall. And then there he was. The guy actually showed up. What was that about?

* * *

Helen and Will were snuggled up on the sofa, wrapped in a comfy throw, making out to an old Cary Grant movie when the phone rang. It was only 9 o'clock, but they were about an inch away from calling it an early night and heading upstairs.

Will was closer to the phone, but he refused to answer.

"What if it's work?" she asked, breathlessly.

"Don't care," he breathed, still kissing her neck.

"Will..." She pushed him back a bit and leaned over him to reach for the phone on the end table on his side of the sofa. "It could be one of the kids."

He pulled her in and pressed his face into her bosom.

"Will..." she said again. And then. "Hello," into the phone.

"Um, Helen?"

"Yes?"

"It's Adam."

"Oh, hey, sweetie," she said, backing away from Will and sitting on her end of the sofa.

Will looked at her with confusion and mouthed, "Sweetie?"

Helen put her hand on the phone's mic and mouthed, "Adam," back to her husband.

"Oh," he nodded and slowly got up to leave the room.

"Wait, hang on a sec, Adam. Will, where are you going?"

"Kitchen. I'll be right back."

She nodded him on and he disappeared around the corner. "What's up, Adam?" she said when she was alone.

"Is this a bad time?"

"Don't worry about that."

"It is. I'm sorry." He nervously rubbed his eyebrow. "I can call you back tomorrow—"

"Honey, it's okay. What's on your mind?"

"You know the kid who did the mural on our shed?"

"Jamal? Yeah."

"He's back in jail, Hogan Juvy."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. His mom's really worried about him. She's afraid that he's given up and when he gets out, he'll just go right back in again... But I know that he could do more. He could _be_ more. I... I feel like I wanna help him. And there might be a way."

"How?"

"They used to have an arts program at the detention center, but the teacher quit and they haven't been able to find a replacement."

"Sounds vaguely familiar," Helen quipped.

Adam laughed a little. "I hadn't thought about that, but yeah, it kinda does... Helen, what you did for me back then... You saved me. I wouldn't be here without you."

"Honey, you were born to be an artist. You would've found your way somehow."

"It's more than just being my teacher. You know that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Jamal doesn't have anyone to turn to who gets him. I think he really needs that."

"You're not asking me to go teach an art class in jail, are you?"

Again, he laughed, "No, no. Me. I'm thinking of teaching it. Or trying to."

"Really? Adam, that's fantastic."

"Yeah, except I'm scared to death."

"Well, that's understandable. It _is_ a prison."

"Actually, I'm more afraid of the idea of teaching. What have I gotten myself into? I've never taught anybody anything."

"The most important thing you can do as an art teacher is figure out where the student's passion lies, what turns him on, what makes him angry, what makes him sad. Then you show him as many options as you can and help him figure out the best way to express himself. If you're lucky, he'll hit upon his medium and his muse and he'll be on his way."

He was silent for a moment. Yep, that made sense. It was exactly what she had done for him, all those years ago. And that was what he was trying to pay forward now. "How do I do that?"

"You listen, you pay attention. You engage... maybe pray a little."

* * *

The sun that shone from the sky made Adam squint as he took off his sunglasses, exiting his car. He got the bag with the art supplies from his trunk that he brought for his first class. He'd spoken to Helen a couple of times and with her advice, he had chosen a simple project that would help him get to know the kids and learn what their artistic interests were.

At the staff entrance, he got to use his brand new card key to buzz himself in. But still, before he was allowed inside the prison proper, his bag and his person would have to be searched.

The guard who did the searching took all of the art supplies—except pads and charcoals—and put them inside a locked closet. "I'll return your stuff when you leave. I suggest you don't bring any of it back again."

Adam suddenly went a shade paler. He had never even considered the fact that he might not be allowed to bring basic tools like pens, and pencils and paint brushes in. "But how exactly are we supposed to have art class without tools?"

"Nothing that can be we turned into a weapon is allowed in."

"Yeah, I understand that, but none of that stuff was sharp or dangerous."

"You can seriously injure someone with a pen or a pencil. A paint brush handle can be sharpened into a stabbing tool. And the scissors? Come on, that should've been obvious. I thought you had an orientation."

"I did. But they didn't get into those specific details. The bottom line is I don't know what I'm supposed to do in an art class with no tools. Is there any way I can talk to Mr. O'Connell about this?"

The guard seemed slightly annoyed, but he reluctantly went to the phone to make the call. Adam waited with baited breath, but the guard's face wasn't any friendlier when he came back. "He can't speak to you right now, but he will meet with you after your class."

Adam sighed. "Guess I'll make do somehow."

He gave Adam the key for the classroom and buzzed him into the corridor where all the school rooms were located.

Walking along, Adam felt very foolish and very exposed. Without his materials, he had nothing to work with for the lesson. Not exactly the best way to make a first impression.

It was still fifteen minutes till showtime as he made his way to the room they had assigned him to. At the door, he met a corrections officer named Dewey Smith, according to his nametag. They exchanged pleasantries before Adam entered the classroom.

Not surprisingly, he was the first one to arrive. He quickly surveyed the room, there were long tables and chairs, very similar to the art room in high school. And there was a very basic teacher's desk in the front. But there was no chalkboard, only a stand with a giant flip pad, to the side. It was more like some bleak hotel lecture hall than a regular school room.

He paced the room near the teacher's desk a few times before he sat down. He had to come up with a plan, and quick. Not having any materials except for a flip pad and a charcoal sticks, he decided it would be best if they just talked. Not a great plan, but for lack of alternatives, he'd have to go with it. Maybe they could sketch something on the flip pad.

The minutes ticked by, and by the time the clock hit 2:05 PM, and no one had shown up yet, Adam wondered if he was in the right room. Just as he was about to go check into that, the first teenager entered, sitting down in one of the chairs in the last row. Adam greeted him with a casual, "Hey," but the guy said nothing.

More kids came in and after about five more minutes, Adam counted nine students in all, Jamal among them, and of course none of them wanted to sit in the first row. He went to the back of the room to close the door and then stood in front of the class.

"Welcome to practical arts," he said in a friendly manner. Zero reaction. A couple of the guys sat in silence. A couple of them talked to each other as if he was not even there. He tried to show that he was unperturbed by their disinterest and went on, "My name is Adam Rove," he went to the flip pad and wrote down his name before he went on, "I'll be your teacher for the next eight weeks."

The ones who were talking to each other laughed. And he heard one of them utter, "Chump."

"More like bitch," the other said and he made a mock smoochie face at Adam.

At least half of them laughed at that.

"Uh, guys, if any of you don't want to be here, you can leave."

"We here, bitch. Ain't nobody goin' nowhere."

"I'm not really interested in struggling with people who don't want to take an art class, so..."

"Oh, you ain't interested, huh? You on my turf now, son."

"Yeah, man," the other guy chimed in. "Why don't we play Pictionary or something?" he got up and went to the flip pad. "What you got to draw with?"

This kid couldn't be over sixteen years old but he towered over Adam. "C-could you sit down please?"

The kid was rummaging around on the desk looking for whatever utensils he could find. "You didn't bring no pens or markers or nothin'? Man, what we supposed to draw with?"

"Sit down," Adam said again, a little more strongly this time.

Young blood stood over Adam and stared down at him, fully aware that he was scaring the piss out of this little white boy who was clearly out of his element. But the guard outside the room looked in through the vertical window in the door and he backed down.

He went back to his seat and Adam breathed a great sigh of relief. "Okay... I had something cool planned for this first lesson, but unfortunately, they took away all the stuff I needed for us to work with. So... today we'll have to improvise a little..."

* * *

The room emptied slowly as Adam's new students were gathered in the hallway outside to be lead back to their pods. He went to the flip pad and looked through the pages the kids had sketched on with the charcoal. Most of them were worse than stick figures. He sighed inwardly. The day had seemed like a disaster. He'd never felt in control of the classroom. These guys had not taken him seriously at all.

Also, he had been far too naïve to expect them to actually be interested in art, in learning something about it. More likely, they were only into the idea of something to get them out of their pods for a couple of hours.

He hated that they got to him, but Adam found their taunts humiliating. What was worse, Jamal did nothing to stand up for him. He barely seemed to be paying attention. In the beginning, Adam was pleased that he had at least come out for the class. Now, he wasn't sure this was going to work at all.

He looked up when he detected movement, and saw Jamal slowly approaching him. "Man, I can't believe you signed up for this," Jamal said to Adam. "Regret it yet?"

He stopped with his gathering of the sketches the guys had done for a moment. "Kinda," he sighed. "Today was a total waste of time. Do any of you guys really wanna be in this class?"

"Those guys, I don't know. But there's a couple of us who do."

"Yeah? Like who?"

"You know the little white kid in the back with the glasses?"

Adam's photographic memory brought a picture of the kid to his mind's eye right away. "Peter?"

"Yeah. He's for real. So's Big John. And you know I'm for real."

"What about the other guys?" Adam asked.

"Probably just looking for an easy class to get 'em outta work."

"And they think art is easy?"

Jamal laughed at him. "Man, they got no idea what art is."

"So how do I do this?"

Jamal studied him for a moment, and it made Adam feel even more self-conscious than he already had all day. When Jamal didn't say anything, he prompted, "What?"

"Well, for starters, look at how you're dressed. This ain't no fancy private school. This is lock-up. Lose the math teacher threads, man."

Adam looked down his outfit, taking in the crisp, light blue shirt, gray slacks and sport coat he had decided to wear. He had made it a point to pick something that would look, well, the way a teacher was supposed to look. "What am I supposed to wear?"

"You look like you're on a job interview or something," Jamal scowled. "Just wear what you're comfortable in."

"I'm comfortable. I wear these clothes to work every day."

"What do you wear on casual Friday?"

_Ah._ Adam nodded. "I get it."

"You wanna handle these thugs up in here, you're gonna have to find a way to toughen up. They got no respect for the sensitive artist type, yo. Trust me on that one."

Before today, Adam could only imagine what life might be like for Jamal on the inside. He had a much clearer picture now. "I'll keep that in mind," he said as he began gathering his things again, "if I decide to come back next week."

Jamal looked stricken. "You gotta come back."

Adam stopped again and regarded him carefully. "You really want me to?"

"Yeah, man. "It'll give me something to look forward to."

"You didn't seem interested when we talked before."

"What else have I got in this hellhole?"

Slowly, Adam nodded. He sat on the teacher's desk. "Jamal, why are you in here again?"

He looked down, still obviously trying to avoid talking about it. "I just... I messed up, okay?"

"Not okay. You want me to come back, tell me why you're here."

"Look, I'm here because I'm an idiot, aite? Is that what you wanna hear?'

"I just want to know what happened. You were so determined to stay out of trouble."

"I was runnin' with the wrong boys, I guess."

Annoyance crept into Adam's voice. "Yeah, I already heard that from your mom."

Jamal looked at Adam, surprised. "You talked to my mama?"

"Why do you think I'm here?"

"I don't know, man. To ease your conscience or something?"

Adam gave Jamal a look. "Come on, give me a little credit." He stood and looked at Jamal seriously. "You're a good kid. And you're gonna be a great artist if you want it badly enough. You deserve a better life than this. I'm sure a lot of the guys in here deserve a better life than this. Maybe I seem a little silly, thinking I could come in here and make any difference at all, but I wanna help. There are things I can teach you, all of you, if you want to learn."

Suddenly, the brusque voice of one of the guards echoed into the classroom, "Morgan, let's go! Back to the block."

"You're a real piece of work," Jamal said, shaking his head as he walked toward the hallway to join the other kids. At the doorway, he turned back. "See you next week?"

Adam shrugged. "I thought we had a deal. You never told me why you're here."

"Come back next week, I'll tell you my whole life story, man." Jamal gave him a small smile and then he was gone, swept up in the gang of boys being led away from the classroom.

As he headed to the staff entrance to reclaim his art supplies, Adam began to feel a little better. Maybe it wasn't going to be a total waste of time after all. If all else failed, maybe he could at least reach Jamal.

* * *

Joan stopped in the middle of changing the bed linens when she heard Adam trudging up the stairs. He entered their bedroom with his jacket across his arm as he unbuttoned and untucked his dress shirt. He wanted nothing more than to change into sweats and forget about the day.

"How'd it go?" Joan asked, watching him, thinking he looked pretty beat.

"I sucked," he said bluntly as he tossed his jacket and shirt onto a chair and went to help her make the bed.

She did not resume. "What? Why?"

He let go of the edge of the sheet he had grabbed. "It was a disaster. They wouldn't let me bring my materials in. Nothing but charcoal sticks. So I stood there and I had nothing. I mean, I guess we coulda done some finger-painting, but those guys already thought I was enough of a wuss."

"Oh. Yep, that sucks," she agreed. "So what did you do?"

"We just talked. And I had them sketch anything they wanted, just to get the lay of the land, see who they are, what their skills are."

"Yeah...?" she said, sounding hopeful as they both started making the bed together, as if by instinct.

"Only a few of them can draw and want to be in the class. The rest of them couldn't care less about art. And they hated me."

She looked at him dismissively. "Nobody hates you."

"They think I'm a bitch. And... and I guess I came off like one." He shrugged as he continued on his side of the bed.

"They just don't know you."

He turned around and sat down on the bed. "Jane, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I don't think I'm cut out for it."

She walked over and sat beside him. "You'll win them over. You didn't expect them to embrace you with open arms, did you? It is a prison after all, not a Sunday afternoon at Color Me Mine. Don't you think maybe you were expecting too much from your first class?"

He sighed. "Maybe. I just wish we hadn't gotten off to such a bad start."

He sounded so miserable all Joan wanted to do was comfort him. She laid her head on his shoulder and slid her hand up over his back, rubbing lovingly until she brought it to rest on the opposite shoulder.

A hollow laugh escaped Adam, as he wrapped his arm around her. "Jamal had some ideas about how to make a better impression next time."

"You talked to Jamal?"

"Yeah, for a minute after the class. Before they took him away."

"And?"

He shook his head incredulously. "Well... in a nutshell: toughen up and dress down."

She sighed. "Are you gonna go back?"

He drew back and looked at her, a little surprised at himself. Yes, he was already thinking of quitting. Just like the last guy. Only sooner. Maybe he _was_ acting like a bitch. He was sure he could do better. And he wanted to try. He sighed. "I guess so."

She read his mind. "You'll do better next time, as long as you don't give up."

_God, Jane... _Her confidence in him simply blew him away. He leaned in to plant a soft kiss on her lips, turning to take her face in his hands. "Thanks," he smiled at her when he gently released her.

She heard her heart beating in her ears for a second and felt a twinge of desire deep down.

"So, what did _you_ do while I was gone?" he asked quietly.

"I was getting our little love nest ready," she said, bending down, smoothing the sheet out languidly, suggestively with her palm. "But someone walked in on me and interrupted."

"Why make the bed?" he asked, his smile growing wide. "It's not gonna stay that way for long."

"I never said it had to," she smiled back.

He lifted her hand off the bed and placed it on his shoulder, and they melted into one another.

* * *

_**END PART TWO**_


	27. Probation :: Part 3: Trying

_**Chapter 22**_  
**Probation**

**Part 3: Trying**

_by TeeJay & Sisterdebmac_

* * *

_**Authors' Note:**  
"Honesty is a hard attribute to find when we all want to seem like we've got it all figured out. But let me be the first to say that I don't have a clue. I don't have all the answers, but, God, I pretend like I do. Just trying to find my way. Trying to find my way the best that I know how." —Lifehouse_

_Again, t__hanks to all the readers of Butterflies, especially those of you who have reviewed it. We couldn't do this without you._

_**Synopsis for Part 3:**  
Adam and Jamal muddle through the their new student/teacher relationship as Adam becomes more determined to help the kid._

_**Rating For Chapter: PG-13**__ for strong language violence & adult themes. _

_**Rating for Part 3: PG-13**__ for language & adult themes._

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool. _

* * *

Lunch was uneventful at the Hogan County Juvenile Detention Center on this drab Tuesday, both socially and food-wise. Jamal sat alone, forcing himself to finish his bland meatloaf and mashed potatoes only because he had to eat. There was absolutely no pleasure to be found in the cuisine in the joint, that was for damn sure. Every mealtime he missed his mama's home cooking so bad he wanted to cry. When he missed her Christmas dinner, he actually did.

Suddenly Colby Mayer slid into the seat next to Jamal, startling him out of his thought. He glanced over and his eyes fell where they always did when he saw Colby, the spider tattoos on his neck. Colby thought they made him look hardcore. Jamal thought the very detailed arachnids were kind of beautiful. And kind of sad.

He sometimes hung out with Colby. The dude was a jerk most of the time, but that meant people didn't really mess with him. When Jamal was with him, he knew he wouldn't be messed with either. He wasn't sure that Colby would have his back in a crunch. He didn't know anybody who would. So he just tried to make himself very small and do his time quietly.

One thing he hated about Colby, his boys. They were all big, cornfed white boys and they hated everyone else in the place. A couple of them were skinheads. One of them had a huge swastika tattoo on his chest and other Nazi symbols on his arms and neck. What really scared Jamal though were the teardrops in the corner of his left eye. This dude—who they called Erik The Dane, or just Dane—had three of them. That was supposed to mean that he'd killed three black people. Logically, Jamal knew that had to be bullshit, that they were just for show. How could a 16-year-old get away with killing three people and then land in Juvy for stealing a pair of boots from an Army surplus store? Obviously, Dane was as dumb as he was mean. And he'd never lost a fight in lockup. Together, all signs pointed to trouble.

Jamal looked around, but Colby seemed to be sans posse. Shocking. He relaxed a little.

Colby dug into his own lunch tray, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth. He barely bothered to swallow half of them before he asked Jamal, "Who was that dude you were talking to in the school hall the other day?"

"New art teacher."

"That little wet bitch? What is he? Twelve?"

Jamal shrugged and gave him a sideways glance. He wanted to tell Colby to shut the fuck up, but he knew it was better to let it go. "He's aite," was all he decided to say on the subject.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, man."

"You two seem kinda tight. He your sweetie on the outside or somethin'?" Colby laughed and chewed his food at the same time.

"Nah, man."

"What, then?"

"You remember Brody at the rec in town?"

Colby nodded.

"He hired me and this other dude to paint the guy's house a few months back. And this dude ends up being an artist. A really cool one. He gave me some extra money to paint a mural, man."

"For real?"

"Straight up."

"How much?" Colby asked.

"A benjamin. Not bad for fucking around one afternoon with an airbrush, and I got to keep the leftover paint."

"So, what's he doin' here?'

Jamal shrugged. "I don't know."

"You sure he ain't got wood for you?'

"It ain't like that. He got a _fine_ honey, man. Curves in all the right places," Jamal couldn't suppress a grin as he gestured those curves for a slack-jawed Colby.

"He so desperate for a job he gotta teach art in jail?"

"He has a great job at a design studio."

"Then I don't get why he'd wanna come here."

"What difference does it make? He's here."

Colby shrugged one shoulder and wolfed down a huge bite of meatloaf.

"I mean, you know, the first class was lame cuz the hacks wouldn't let him bring in any tools."

"But he's coming back?"

"Yeah and he said he'd figure out a way to get some supplies in."

Colby raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Jamal knew that look. It couldn't be good. "What?"

Colby leaned toward Jamal and lowered his voice. "You think he can score us some dope?"

Jamal didn't know what to say. If he didn't have the right answer for Colby, he knew he could end up getting jacked later, when he least expected it—just because he'd pissed the dude off. But what he asked was _never_ going to happen. Finally, he released a breath and shook his head, "Look, dog, I don't think he's the man for that. The dude is clean. He wouldn't have a clue where to get that stuff."

"What if you said some guys are gonna beat you up unless he gets some weed for you?"

"Don't play me, man."

Colby's greasy smile spread slowly over his face. "What if I'm not playin'?"

"Dude, why would you fuck with me like that? I never did nothin' to you. I'm not draggin' this guy into your shit."

"All right, all right. Dayum. What is it with you and the tiny teacher?"

"I think he might be my ticket outta here. Maybe for good."

Colby didn't quite get what Jamal meant. "What are you talkin' about? He gonna break you out or somethin'? Because if he is, I'm going too."

It was so damn hard not to laugh at Colby's absurd way of thinking. But Jamal knew he'd only dig himself deeper if he did. "No, man, nothin' like that. It's just about the art class."

"Right, you and your art. I forgot. You're special," Colby said mockingly. "What are you gonna do, learn to draw ponies and rainbows so you can convince the judge you're rehabilitated and ready to go home and be a good boy?"

Jamal let the insult roll off his back. "_You _don't wanna go home?" he asked simply.

Colby stood, angrily. "I ain't got no home." He grabbed up his tray off the table and snatched the apple from Jamal's. "And you're a pussy."

Jamal watched him take a bite out of it, turn and walk away.

* * *

It was the third morning, Joan noticed, that Adam appeared in the kitchen fully dressed and groomed, but not shaved. The dark stubble on his chin and cheeks was clearly visible. She handed him a mug with coffee, sliding her index finger along his scratchy jaw line. "What's with the fuzz?"

"Trying to shake the math teacher vibe," he said as he took a sip from his coffee.

"Math teacher?"

He only nodded.

"Who called you a math teacher?"

"Jamal. And remember, he's the one who likes me. Kind of."

"You're growing a beard to impress the guys in Juvy?"

He shrugged.

"You think they'll see you with new eyes if you show up all scruffy?" She couldn't believe it.

"Maybe. Couldn't hurt." He studied her for a moment, then concluded, "You think it's stupid, don't you?"

"What do I know? If you think it'll help, hey..."

"But you don't like it," he said.

She slipped her arms around his waist. "No, I don't like the fuzz. You understand that it burns my face and takes the fun out of kissing you, right?"

She pouted adorably and it made him want to shave right then. But he couldn't. He put one arm around her waist and rubbed at his chin with the other hand. "It gets softer after a few days, doesn't it? You know, when it gets longer."

"I guess..."

"You're not gonna quit kissing me till it gets softer are you?"

"What if I quit kissing you till you shave?"

"You wouldn't."

"Don't test me."

"I'll go get my razor right now," he said pulling away from her.

She pulled him back, laughing. "Nah... do your macho beard thing."

"Thank you." He leaned in and kissed her gently so she wouldn't feel his scruffy face.

"You owe me," she grinned at him and winked.

He was certain he knew exactly what she meant. _"The fuzz does have its merits."_ He remembered her words so well he could still hear her saying them. He smiled back at her, recalling that glorious time in the shower when she had been a tonic to him after a long consumption.

He looked at her for several seconds and then he caught a glimpse of his mother's antique clock on the mantle. Ironically, it kept the best time of all the devices they owned. He was going to be late for work if he didn't hit the road right away. "Dammit," he hissed. "I gotta go. Henry set up an early web conference with some clients in Europe. With the time difference and everything, it's already well into the afternoon for them by the time we normally get to the office."

"Go." She took the half-empty mug from him. "Better not be late, future partner."

He kissed her again and out the door he went.

She watched him leave and then absentmindedly sipped at the mug she was holding. When she realized it was Adam's black coffee, she drew a face both at the bitter taste and her lack of concentration. Pouring the rest of the beverage down the drain, she put the mug aside and went upstairs to get ready for work herself.

* * *

They all took a long look at him when they entered the room. One of the guys, a Hispanic kid, stared Adam up and down with a look of puzzlement on his face. "What happened to you, man? You live outta your car last week or somethin'?"

The others laughed. He did look different. His hair was unstyled, his week of beard growth was thick and dark. He wore jeans and black boots and an old leather jacket he had bought at a funky Providence salvage store when he was in college. He also dug out one of his old t-shirts from high school, featuring a skeleton wearing a sombrero, and a leather wristband that he used to wear.

"That guy you saw last week was just trying a little too hard, Jorge." With a tiny bit of self-satisfaction, he watched Jorge bristle at the fact that he remembered him by name.

"Yeah?" the big guy who showed his ass the week before chimed in. "Well, what do you call this new look? Trailer trash pimp?"

"It's not a 'look', ok? It's just me in more comfortable clothes... and a failure to shave," he replied. "Look, I know most of you guys really don't wanna be here. But for whatever reason, you are. So let's just cut the shit, okay? And pretend you're all somehow interested in art in one way or another."

"And what if we _are_ interested?" Big John asked. "What are we supposed to do with no supplies?"

"Yeah, man, what the fuck are we supposed to use? Paper brushes and imaginary scissors?" another guy sarcastically threw in.

"Yeah, this is bullshit, man," Jorge said.

All their voices seemed to go up at once until no one could hear anyone anymore.

Jamal stewed for as long as he could until the noise was deafening. "Shut the fuck up!" he snapped, standing to emphasize his words. The voices tapered off as everyone turned to look at him. "Would y'all rather be sitting in your pods right now? If the man quits, that's what happens."

It was enough. Jamal sat down again as the rest of the guys found a seat and finally all was quiet. Adam nodded at Jamal and went to sit on the edge of the teacher's desk. "I may have found a way around our equipment problems. If you guys will just give me a chance, I can show you some really cool ways to improvise, to use anything you can get your hands on to create art that's unique to you, that you can own."

That seemed to intrigue all of them. No one protested now. Adam could only smile as he unpacked his bag. As he placed a box with an assortment of colorful plastic kindergarten scissors on the desk, he explained, "I was able to convince them to let me bring in a few things this time under the condition that everyone who takes a tool, has to sign it out first and then back in again before you leave the room. There's a list here for that." He held the list up for everyone to see and then put it back on the desk. "So let me explain what I thought we'd do today."

He stood by the flip pad on which he had written, "MIRROR". He explained to them that he had brought a stack of magazines, cardboard paper in different colors, silver and gold reflective foil paper and glue. They would have an hour and a half to let their imaginations roam free and come up with something that illustrated the word "mirror".

He had feared at first that maybe it was a little too elementary school, but he wanted something simple to start with, to get an idea about how creative these guys were. It would also help him learn more about their personalities. About whatever might exist beneath their bravado.

When everyone had signed out their pair of scissors, Adam put the box into the closet in the back of the room and locked it for the remainder of the lesson. All the other utensils they would need for today were innocuous and very soon the guys in the class were clipping away at magazines and colored cardboard.

Everyone got busy with their own little project. Everyone except one person, he realized. Peter. He was only casually leaning back in his chair, reading one of the magazines. Adam approached him.

"Read anything interesting, Peter?"

Peter looked up at him without much interest. "What do you care?"

"It's my art class, I care."

"Yeah, whatever." Peter lowered his head and went back to reading the magazine.

Adam sat down on the chair in front of Peter's desk with the backrest in front of him, folding his arms on top of it. "Okay, so let me lay the rules out to you. You come to my class, you actively participate in the assignment. If you have a problem with something I'm asking you to do, speak up. If you're not interested in being here, you leave. Your choice."

That got Peter's attention, he glared at Adam.

Adam didn't budge. "So either you come to the desk and choose what you wanna work with or the COs will take you back to the block."

"I..." Peter hesitated, and Adam knew he didn't want to go.

Adam softened a little. "Don't have any ideas?"

"I just think it's stupid, is all. It's like kindergarten stuff."

Adam looked around the room. "Everybody else seems okay with it. You gonna call them stupid?"

Peter only shrugged.

"Hang on a minute," Adam said. He went to the teacher's desk, got a sheet of silver foil paper and went to sit back down with Peter. "You can do some really cool things with this stuff." He started folding the paper, bending it at different angles, curling it in on itself. With a pair of scissors he formed indentations and patterns and very soon he had made a sort of mini sculpture from it.

Peter still seemed a little skeptical. "Not bad. But I don't see how that has anything to do with a mirror."

"I never said you had to build a mirror. Don't you look in the mirror sometimes and see, like, I don't know, a twisted, bent version of yourself with all these scars and flaws?" He pointed at the sculpture. "That's that version of me."

"Deep," Peter said, but the mocking quality was gone from his voice now.

"Not so kindergarten, is it?"

"Guess not," he had to admit.

"Why don't I let you work out any ideas you might have on your own? If you still think you can't come up with anything on the theme, you can do something else. Anything you want."

Peter nodded and Adam left him to himself, turning his attention back to the others.

By the end of the lesson, Peter had come up with a really cool collage. Adam made it a point to tell him how impressed he was. The genuine, humble smile he'd gotten from the boy made him think he might've won him over. A small victory for the day. Not all the works that the guys created were impressive, but he was very happy that everyone had tried to make something. He felt like things might actually work out.

Jamal's piece was pretty freaky. He'd used only faces. As many as he could cut out and paste up in the time they had. In his mirror, he saw hundreds of faces looking back at him. Angry faces, sad faces, laughing faces.

"Can I keep it?" Adam asked him.

Jamal shrugged at him, somewhat self-consciously.

"Will you sign it?"

Again he shrugged as Adam handed him a marker. He signed the bottom right corner and handed the marker back to Adam.

"Thanks. You mind helping me clean up?"

CO Dewey Smith was gathering the guys outside the door to be taken back to the block. Jamal looked at him. Smith gave him a nod. "Five minutes, Morgan. Then they take you back too."

He heard some of the other guys protest about why he should get to stay when they had to leave, but the COs quickly shut them up and moved them along.

Jamal got the trash can from the corner of the room and began picking up the cut up bits of paper and magazine the guys had gotten all over the floor. Adam counted and locked away all the utensils.

"So, I see you tried, in your own very special way to take my advice," Jamal snickered at Adam when they were alone, gesturing at his low-key attire and his beard.

"I like this much better anyway," Adam admitted.

"You don't think maybe you went a little too far in the other direction?" Jamal asked.

Adam stopped what he was doing and looked down at himself. "What?"

"The threads are okay, but what's with this stuff?" Jamal said, rubbing his own chin.

Adam had to smile. "Not working?"

"No offense, dude, but... no. Your girl dig it?"

"She hates it."

"I think you need to shave, man."

That made Adam chuckle. "Looks like I'm outnumbered."

"So how is your girl anyway? She cool with this?"

"She thinks I'm a little crazy. But, yeah, she's trying to be cool with it." When he'd put all the art supplies in the bag he had brought, Adam paused and sat down on the desk. "Okay, so we had a deal. Let's have that life story."

Jamal gave him a bit of a cockeyed grin. "I was born a poor black child."

Adam pointed at him, also with a grin. "Steve Martin, _The Jerk_."

Jamal laughed. "Aw, hell yeah."

They slapped hands as they shared a moment of stupid-movie sympatico.

Then Adam sobered, "Seriously, man. What happened?"

Jamal sat down as well, on a desk opposite Adam. "It was really stupid. There's these dudes I run with sometimes, dudes from the neighborhood. They're older than me. And this one dude, I owed him some money. He said if I help his crew out, pop some cars, steal some sound equipment, we'd be square. So I did. And I got busted."

"The others didn't?"

He shook his head. "They were somewhere down the street, guess they bailed."

"And you didn't want to rat them out, huh?"

"Nah, man. That's the point. If I get busted, it's just Juvy court for me. They get busted, they do hard time."

"So you just take the fall for them?"

"No choice. You don't know what it's like out there. I do my time, I go home and everything's cool. If I rat them out, they come after me. And my mama and my baby brother."

Adam didn't know what to say to that. Jamal was right. He had no idea what it was like out there. "So when you get outta here and go home, you just pick up where you left off?" he challenged him.

Jamal lifted his head and looked at Adam. "Man... I don't know."

"You'll be seventeen then. If you get busted again, you won't be coming back here."

"You think I don't know that?"

"Then you know that you gotta stay outta trouble, steer clear of those guys, right?"

"How?" Jamal asked.

"Get back in school. Stay off the streets."

"You make it sound pretty easy," Jamal said sarcastically.

"I know it's not, okay? But you can change. You can do better. And you don't have to do it alone. You've got your family. You've got the rec. And God knows I don't have all the answers, but you've got me too. I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Jamal nodded and looked down at his hands.

"Do you still owe those guys money?"

"Yeah," Jamal admitted quietly.

"How much?"

"Couple hundred bucks."

"And they'll be waiting for you when you get out, right?"

Again, he nodded.

An idea came into focus and Adam stood and walked around behind the teacher's desk. "You know, I could talk to my boss about an internship at the design studio if you'd be up for that."

Jamal sat up taller. He couldn't believe his ears. "For real, man?"

"Yeah. The pay's not so great, but you could earn enough to pay off your debt quick enough. Then you could focus on getting straightened out at school and getting back to your art."

"You sure your boss would take me on with a record?"

"I think so. He trusts _me_, so if I put in a good word for you, I'm sure he'll agree to at least give it a try."

Jamal's face lit up.

"No charity here, Jamal. This is gonna be real work, some of it you might not enjoy too much. I did it myself when I was in school. But if you stick with it, you'll learn a hell of a lot."

"I can handle it."

"Then I'll see what I can do about arranging it. But you have to promise me that you won't do anything stupid again."

Jamal was taken by surprise. He looked at his hands again. "Man, I... I can't... make that promise. As much as I want to—"

"You know what?" Adam interrupted him. "Just think about it for a while. Think about how different your life could be. How much better. It's up to you."

"Morgan!" came the guard's booming voice from the hallway. "Playtime's over. Let's move."

He jumped instantly and headed for the door, but he glanced back at Adam with a grateful nod and a small smile.

* * *

Wednesday evening, on her way home from work, Joan drummed her thumbs to the beat on the wheel of her VW Beetle, humming along to the radio. It was a song from a few years ago, she recalled, and suddenly she remembered that it was on the soundtrack for that movie—that movie about a group of no-good California boys kidnapping this kid as ransom for a drug debt. She saw it in college with a bunch of other girls who were into that singer guy who was in the movie. She couldn't remember the name of it for the life of her, but some images still lingered in her mind.

She remembered this skinny guy with long, stringy black hair—obviously a very bad wig—who was still somehow stunningly hot to her back then. None of the other girls got it. He wasn't exactly the heartthrob type, but she did remember this one scene where he was naked from the waist up, macking on some girl at a party. She thought he was incredibly sexy then, and now she couldn't get the mental image out of her mind. He had reminded her a little of Adam.

God, Adam! Who needed the memory of some guy in a movie when she had him waiting for her at home, in the flesh? As she picked her way through traffic, almost on auto-pilot, she imagined Adam's bare chest in her mind's eye. The way his pale pecs were just toned enough, and how his abs were tight and strong, the little tufts of hair at his neckline and down between his belly button and... Oh, how much she would love to run her hands over him right now and watch the goose bumps that formed in their wake. She would love to plant soft kisses down the centerline of his torso, taking in the subtle scent of the body spray he wore. She would—

_Stop it!_ she told herself. She was feeling that excited low down tingle, those butterflies in her stomach. Daydreaming of him like this was too distracting. She had to force her attention back to the road as she went through a yellow light that turned red before she was even under it. She heard a horn blare and hoped that she hadn't cut someone off. She pushed the images of Adam away and focused on her driving, hoping she could keep her wits about her until she got home.

Once inside the house, she was disappointed that she didn't find him right away, but then she heard a commotion from the utility room off the kitchen. She watched him from the doorway for a few seconds. His back was turned towards her as he bent over the washing machine. She went straight up to him and breathed a soft, "Hey honey," down his neck from behind.

She couldn't see him smiling, but she knew he would be. She just couldn't hold back and slid one hand under his t-shirt and up his bare back. Suddenly, her mind was right back where it had been in the car. Where was this sudden desire coming from?

She could feel him tense and he sucked in a breath. "Geez, your hands are freezing," he said, turning slowly around.

She ran her cold fingers along the smooth surface of his cheek and playfully down over to his mouth and chin. "Have I told you how glad I am that you decided to start shaving again?"

"Anything for you," he smiled as he took both of her hands, put them palm to palm and enveloped them with his own as he breathed onto them to warm them. His gaze on her was part mischievous, part inquisitive. "You sure are lustful for someone just coming home from work. What's going on?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. I don't know." She lowered her voice a notch. "I just... want you. Right now."

He was taken by surprise at her rather straightforward statement. "Wow. Okay." He gestured at the not fully loaded washing machine. "The laundry..."

"Can wait," she finished his sentence, tugging at his hands with both of hers.

Why in the world was she so eager tonight? He quickly shrugged that question off—didn't really matter. It was an unexpected delight for so early in the evening and he was certainly game.

Together they took the stairs two by two in haste. It was as if they were zapped back to when they had just slept together for the first time. To those first few weeks when they couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was so exhilarating.

They undressed each other as fast as they could, their hearts crashing in their chests. His shirt was the first thing to come off and he almost stumbled when she immediately kissed his chest, just inside his left nipple. He felt her hands there too, her delicate fingers teasing and caressing him. He thought he'd die. He reached for her face and drew her lips to his, devouring them.

She tugged at the waistband of the sweats he had already changed into and he sighed into her as she removed them, sliding the palms of her hands along his pelvis and legs as she pushed them down and off. He pulled her back up and removed her blouse and skirt and she discarded her bra and panties.

"You're so beautiful," he told her breathlessly.

"So are you, baby."

Ten minutes later, she collapsed happily on his chest and they lay there together, recovering.

Well, this was certainly different from their routine. Not that their sex had become routine, but he couldn't remember her being quite so forceful in a long time. He couldn't remember being so out of breath that he had to lie there like a lump for a full minute before he could move or speak. He couldn't even hold her.

When he finally recovered, he slid his arms around her and held her to him. "Jane, you amaze me anew every day. I love you so much."

"I love you too."

"You really don't know what brought all this passion on?"

She grinned and looked up at him a little sheepishly. "Um... well okay, actually, I do."

When she didn't say anything for a while, he nudged her, "Spill."

"Okay... but you have to promise me you won't laugh."

"I promise."

"Okay. I heard this song from this old movie, and there was this guy in it. I can't even remember his name or the name of the movie, but I remembered this scene where he was... well, he was bare-chested and trying to get with this girl. And I mean, I don't know, it was all just kinda... hot."

He laughed a quiet, amused laugh and she slapped him on the upper arm. "Hey, you promised not to laugh!"

"I'm sorry! Geez. But come on, you gotta admit it's pretty funny."

"What is?"

"The idea of you getting all hot and bothered imagining some guy in a movie and then coming home to have your way with me."

"Okay, it's kinda funny."

"Should I be jealous?"

"Of some guy in a movie I can't even remember?" She gave him a dismissive look. "Please. You'd really laugh at me if you saw him."

"Why?"

"He was just this goofy little guy, and he had all these tattoos..."

"Tattoos?"

"Yeah, on his chest and his back."

"I didn't know you were into tattoos."

"I'm not!" She looked at him. He didn't get it, did he? "Adam, it's not about the tattoos. There was just something about him..." How could she explain it? "Haven't you ever seen an actress that you thought was hot? That you maybe kinda fantasized about?"

"Sure. Not lately though."

"Really?"

"You have?"

"No! I mean, I can't remember that happening since we've been together." But there were certainly plenty of times in the past, she recalled, when some guy on TV or in a movie had turned her on enough to make her want to unpack the old dildo. And she probably had a couple of times.

He gave her a sudden look. "Any particular reason why it should happen now?"

She laughed. "Honey, it was totally random. I just had this flashback to this movie and this guy. I first saw it back in college. And the truth is, he turned me on because he kinda reminded me of you. Well, the skinny high school you."

"You're just saying that."

She rose up so she could look him in the eye. "No, I swear. I even told my girlfriends when we were watching the movie. I heard this song and I thought of him in the movie and that made me think of you half-naked." She lay back down on his chest again. "And I thought how you look so much better now that you've grown up and filled out." She ran her fingers over his nipple and felt his arms tighten around her. "I... I started to imagine _you_, being right here like this, with you. I got so excited I ran a red light trying to get home to you."

"Damn..." he whispered.

"Yeah."

"Maybe I should take you to the movies more often."

* * *

The next morning, the residual energy from their spontaneously exciting evening stuck with them. They both woke up well before the alarm was set to go off and they made love again, twice.

Afterward, Adam lay there, staring off into space instead of drifting back to sleep.

"Adam?" Joan said, trying to shake him from his trance. "Honey," she prompted again. "Where are you? Come back to me."

He slowly found his way back and he lifted his head just a little, so he could look at her. "What?"

"I know that expression of yours. Something's bothering you. What is it?"

He breathed a sigh out through his nose. "Oh, uh, I was just thinking about Jamal."

She feigned exasperation. "Wait, we were making love and you were thinking about Jamal? Prison has really changed you," she joked.

"Definitely," he chuckled lightly, but then he grew serious. "I just... you know, I keep trying to figure out how to break this cycle he's in. He can't just go back to the way things were. There's gotta be more I can do. _We_ can do."

"Like what?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I— this stuff is kind of your department. Social services, I mean. There must be resources."

"Sure. But what exactly do you think you can do for him?" She asked seriously, realizing that he had developed more of an emotional attachment to Jamal than she'd expected.

"I have no idea, really. That's the problem. I just feel like he deserves a shot at a better life."

"You're already helping him with his art. You said he seemed a lot better this past Sunday."

"Yeah, but it's been nagging at me that it's not enough. I talked to Henry about giving Jamal an internship after he gets out of Juvy."

"And?"

"It may take a little bit more convincing, but I think I can work it out."

"That's great."

"I wish there was a way to get him out of jail sooner. Maybe I could talk to a lawyer or something, see if that's even a possibility."

"But honey, he's being punished for a crime he told you he really committed. Don't you think it's only fair that he pays for it? What kind of message does it send to get him out early?"

"Jane, he's a good kid. Maybe helping him get a break from the system says to him that he deserves the benefit of the doubt. He can still turn it all around. I mean, come on, he's just wasting his time in there. How does that benefit anybody? The juvenile system is supposed to be about rehabilitating these kids while it's still possible, not just warehousing them. If there's any hope for any of them, they should be given a chance, don't you think?"

"Sure I do. But you've only been going up there for a couple of weeks. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Baby, it's _Jamal_. Come on. He knows what he did was wrong. It's not like he did it for fun. He told me he owed someone money and couldn't come up with it and so the guy basically forced him to steal."

She didn't seem convinced.

"He's already done three months in that place, good time too. All of it, good time. It's not like I expect them to let him go free this second. But if he could get a couple of months shaved off his sentence and get back to the business of straightening his life out, I think he can have a future."

"Do you know a lawyer you could talk to?"

"No, but I think one of Brody's buddies is a lawyer. You remember that guy, Chuck, we met at The Local?"

Joan nodded.

"Not sure what his specialty is, but I'll get his number from Brody and give him a call. You know, just to kind of check out whether we even have any options."

"Yeah, that sounds good." She lifted herself off his chest and gave him a very sensual, loving kiss on the lips.

He smiled as she pulled back. "What was that for?"

"Because you're so adorably caring and thoughtful."

"Oh, you like that?"

"Yeah, I think I do," she said with a smile on her face.

"You know, actually there's more."

She moved away from him, lying down on her own pillow next to him, watching his face as he went on. What was he planning now?

"You ever heard of Big Brothers & Big Sisters?"

"Of course," she said. "We just organized one of their fundraisers a couple of months ago." She narrowed her eyes a little. "Wait a minute. You're thinking of becoming a Big Brother?"

He nodded slowly, uncertain what she would think about that. It would surely take away more of their alone-time in the long run. "I have no idea if it's even possible, but wouldn't it be cool if Jamal could become my Little Brother?"

Joan didn't know what to think at first. She was proud of Adam for wanting to volunteer, but... But what? There shouldn't be any buts. He wanted to help, and she couldn't think of a better way to do it.

"Jane...?" he asked, seeking out her eyes when she didn't say anything more.

She met his gaze and smiled. "Honey, I think it's a great idea," she said, genuinely pleased.

"Really?" he beamed at her.

Suddenly the clock went off, startling them both. Adam reached over and killed the alarm.

"Yeah, absolutely," she said when she recovered. "I'll make some phone calls when I get to the office. Maybe I can put you in touch with someone who can help you and Jamal get into the program."

He took her hand and kissed her palm. "That would be awesome. Thank you."

"Where'd you get the idea about Big Brothers & Big Sisters?"

"Brody's in the program."

"He is?" she said, surprised.

"Yep."

"As a Big Brother or Little Brother?"

"Both, actually. He's been with the organization since he was a kid. I looked at their website after he told me about it. I don't know, maybe if we do something official like this, it'll help Jamal see that he has someone he can always turn to."

"You know what? I bet God's really happy with you, right now."

He met her eyes. "You think?"

"He has to be," she smiled, slipping out of their bed. "I know _I_ sure am."

* * *

_**END PART THREE**_


	28. Probation :: Part 4: Utopia

_**Chapter 22**_  
**Probation**

**- Part 4: Utopia -**

_by TeeJay & Sisterdebmac_

* * *

_**Authors' Note:**  
"We'd__ rise post-obstacle, more defined, more grateful. We would heal, be humbled and be unstoppable. We'd hold close and let go and know when to do which, we'd release and disarm and stand up and feel safe. This is utopia, this is my utopia, this is my ideal, my end in sight." —Alanis Morissette_

_Again, t__hanks to all the readers of Butterflies, especially those of you who have reviewed it. We couldn't do this without you. A few of you keep asking us to update sooner, and we totally get it that you're craving more. However, we both have a full-time job. This story is very dear to us, and please rest assured that we're constantly working on it, even when we're not updating it on FFN. We will always strive to update as soon as we possibly can, but sometimes real life has a habit of getting in the way..._

_Not only for your benefit, each chapter that we write usually goes through multiple editing rounds, which often brings in more ideas and (hopefully) expunges most of the typos. We'd like to think that taking a little longer to review our story makes it a better product in the end. That said, you'll be happy to hear that we're already working hard on the next chapter. :o)_

_**Synopsis for Part 4:**  
Adam's hard work at the design studio is finally rewarded. And he and Joan take serious steps toward helping Jamal and his family make major changes for the better._

**_Rating For Chapter: PG-13 _**_for strong language, violence & adult themes._

_**Rating for Part 4: PG-13**__ for language & adult themes._

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool. With apologies once again to BH & Co and to all the actors or turning the God show into porn._

* * *

"We need to talk." Those were the words that would change Adam's life.

He entered Henry's office with no real idea why he felt fear in his belly. He couldn't think of anything he might've done wrong. But Henry's tone was so serious. Adam wanted to ask him again about the internship for Jamal, but now he was worried that it was a bad time.

"Sit down," Henry said, closing the door behind Adam.

"What'd I do?" Adam said, in what he hoped was a joking manner.

"Actually, you've done quite a lot." Henry's voice was still somehow too serious as he walked around his desk and sat in his chair. Adam took a seat across from him. "You earned a degree in less than three years. And you've blown the doors off this place in less than two. You've done everything I've ever asked you to do. And then some. Even things you thought you couldn't do. You've won over clients no one else could. You've brought a freshness to this place that is such a saving grace I cannot tell you."

Adam was stunned. He could barely believe what he was hearing. He'd always had the feeling that Henry thought he was an asset to the studio, but receiving such high praise from the man himself intimidated him a little.

Henry didn't seem to notice Adam's slight discomfort and went on unperturbed, "Well, I can, actually. I can tell you this. It's unanimous. You made it, kid." He stood and held out his hand and Adam rose and shook it, a huge smile spreading across his face. "Welcome to the fold, partner!" he said a bit loudly.

A signal. The other two partners, Alan Wolfe and Lenny Miles, and everyone else in the studio crowded into Henry's door to congratulate Adam. Handshake after handshake, hug after hug, they were all very proud of him.

"The youngest person to ever make partner," Lenny proclaimed. He was only 30 himself, and had become a partner at 28. It was true. Liquid Designs, a company that had changed hands a few times in its 36-year history, had never had a partner of such a tender age – mere weeks from turning 23.

They all wanted to go out that night and have drinks to celebrate the great news, but all Adam could think about was going home and telling Joan. They said to bring her along, but he wanted to tell her privately, in his own way. So everyone agreed on a raincheck till tomorrow, Friday night, when they could have a real party and bring all their spouses, stay later. It made sense.

After everyone filed out of the room and things quieted down, Henry gave Adam an envelope with the partnership agreement and his new compensation package. He assured Adam that they would be reworking things to get him out of that cubicle and into a real office of his own.

On his way out, still high on the amazing news, Adam remembered why he wanted to talk to Henry. "Um," he said quietly, turning back around at the door, "there was something I needed to ask."

"Sure."

"The kid I told you about, Jamal? Have you thought anymore about taking him on as an intern?"

"You're a partner now, hotshot. You can hire him yourself. But keep in mind, _you_ are responsible for anyone you bring into the company."

* * *

"Jane?" he called out first thing when he entered the house.

"Up here!" she called back from upstairs.

Adam hid the bouquet of yellow and orange roses behind his back as he walked up the stairs. He found her in the guest room at the computer, answering e-mails, by the looks of it.

He stood in the doorway, still hiding the flowers, watching her. She heard him come up the stairs and then felt his presence hovering behind her, so she swiveled the chair around.

A bright smile played on his lips—giddily, happily. She stood up. "You look like you just won the lottery," she said with a smile of her own.

He produced the flowers from behind his back and held them out. "Better."

Her smile broadened. "Better?" she asked, taking the flowers. "What could possibly be better?"

"I made partner."

"You... what? Partner? Today?"

"Yeah."

"Wow," she could only breathe.

"Henry called me into his office today and made the announcement. I didn't see it coming. Actually," he gave a small chuckle, "he was so serious at first I thought I was in trouble for something. And then he hits me with _that_. I was completely stunned."

She put the bouquet of flowers carefully on the desk and moved into his arms, kissing him. "Honey, I'm so happy for you," she said after she ended the long and very loving kiss. "You earned it."

"I guess..."

She gave him a look. "Come on. You've busted your ass for the company more times than I can count. You're a great artist, you have such a keen aesthetic eye. You're awesome. You totally deserve it."

"Geez, look, you're making me blush," he quipped.

"Why would you question it?"

"I don't know. It's a little scary, you know. Am I really ready?"

"Henry obviously thinks you are. Stop worrying and just enjoy it."

"I am!" he protested with a laugh. Then he drew her very close and kissed her with such passion that she could feel the sparks flying.

When she had to disentangle herself from him and come up for air, she chuckled, "See, that's the kind of enjoyment I'm talking about."

"They wanted to drag me out someplace to celebrate tonight, but all I could think of was rushing home, telling you."

Now it was her turn to blush. She leaned back a little, reaching into the thick, soft hair over his forehead, smoothing it affectionately. "I'm glad you did," she told him.

His eyes were on her for a long moment before he said with such reverence, "It didn't mean anything until I told you. None of the amazing things that have happened to me would've happened without you. It scares me to think where I'd be if we'd never met. Or what this last year would've been like if God hadn't given you back to me."

There were tears in her eyes suddenly. He could knock her off her feet with that gentle voice of his, that voice that always touched her so deeply when he was earnest and serious. She couldn't help but pull him into another embrace, whispering in his ear, "He does work in mysterious ways sometimes, doesn't He? I don't wanna imagine where I'd be without you either."

He held her tight. "Let's celebrate. In bed."

"Yes.." she smiled. She turned and took his hand to lead him to their room and her eyes fell on the flowers lying on the desk. "But let me put the flowers in a vase first."

"Sure, as long as that's not some kind of distraction technique."

"Hell no!" she laughed. "They're just too beautiful to go to waste. And there's no telling how long they might be lying around without water, if I just leave them here, right?" The naughty smirk on her face reassured him.

"Right," he agreed.

Together they went downstairs to the kitchen to pick out a vase that would go well with the roses. Adam filled it with water while Joan cut the stems. She put the flowers in and draped them so that they were spread out evenly, and then lifted the arrangement to her nose to inhale the sweet scent.

"Perfect," she smiled. "So where should we put them?"

"I think they'd look great in the living room."

"Okay." She moved Adam's art books to the side and placed the bouquet in the center of the coffee table. It wouldn't be practical if they were watching TV, but for now, it was where the flowers belonged.

"Looks great," he said. She stepped back to stand by his side. It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. But then he wondered why he was trying. Caving to his need for her, he reached over and slid his hand under her baby tee, at her back, just above the waistband of her warm-up pants.

His voice was quiet but intense when he whispered, "Jane, I really wanna make love to you right now."

She smiled up at him and took his other hand, gently urging him towards the sofa. It was enough for him to know that she wanted it as much as he did.

"Here?" he asked.

She only nodded and moved into his arms, backing him toward the couch until it took his knees out from under him and he was suddenly seated with her straddling his lap. She kissed him deeply and he slid both hands up her back, under her tee. No bra. Sweet.

Half an hour later, Adam lay there happily, moving his hand ever so softly up and down Joan's bare back. She lay half on top of him, half on the sofa cushions, her face in the crook of his neck. Neither of them said anything, even when they'd caught their breath and their shaking had ceased. A mutual climax that intense was quite sufficient to render them both silent.

Joan finally spoke up. "So who do we tell next?"

He never stopped caressing her back. "Everybody."

She lifted her head. "Hey, why don't we have a celebration tonight?"

"I thought we just did."

She laughed. "No, I mean, like a little party."

"A party? Like what? Going out for a fancy dinner or something?"

"No," she interjected. "I was just thinking maybe we could invite Grace and Karen and Mom and Dad over. We could order in from Giorgio's and tell them the news over pizza and wine, or beer, whatever. I could have mom bring champagne."

"Not a bad idea," he laughed. "But nobody needs to bring anything. We've got beer and wine. Just ask them to come over for a casual dinner."

"Okay, cool. Let me make some calls. Or do you want to do the honors? It's your news after all."

"You call your folks, I'll call the girls, but let's not tell them over the phone. Let's surprise them when they get here."

"That's mean! Making people come out on a week night without telling them what for."

"Mean? You said I was awesome earlier. What's it gonna be, Jane? Pick one."

She studied him for a long beat. "Hmmm, I think I'll stick with awesome."

"There you go," he smiled.

Joan called her parents and Adam called Karen and Grace to see if they had time to come over for an impromptu pizza party. Everyone agreed and very soon they were all gathered around the dining table, eating pizza slices from paper plates, but enjoying the bottle of expensive red wine that Will and Helen had insisted on bringing in Adam's mother's best glassware. Well, everyone but Grace. No one batted an eyelash when Adam simply poured Coke in her glass without a second thought.

Conversations were flowing, there was a lot of laughter and it all just felt so right. For a moment, Adam leaned back in his chair and relished the high spirits and buoyancy that filled the place. Not since their housewarming party, had he felt such vibrancy in the home he had made with Joan. The life and love within these walls reminded him of the better days when Elizabeth Rove was healthy and her energy was the pervasive force.

It was Grace who became inquisitive when the laughter at one of Karen's stories finally died down. "Okay, so what's with the secret gathering, Rove? Are we staging a coup?"

"No, but it is about a change in leadership," he said cryptically. He looked at Joan, who nodded almost imperceptibly. He stood. "All right. I guess I can spill the beans now."

A very deadpan, "Wait, don't say it. Joan's pregnant," followed from Grace.

Helen barely had a second to digest the comment before she said to Joan, "What? Honey, you're pregnant?"

Joan almost laughed at her mother's usual kneejerk reaction at the any mention of "news". Instead, she quickly protested, "No! Mom, chill, I'm not pregnant."

Karen smirked and raised her hand in classroom fashion. "Wait, I know! _Adam_ is pregnant!"

"Nobody's pregnant!" Joan said with faux exasperation.

Everyone broke out in laughter again, and when it died down, Adam cleared his throat. "Guys, can we be serious for a minute?"

The group sobered, everyone's eyes were on him now.

He went on, "We invited you all here tonight because I wanted to tell you that I made partner at Liquid Designs today."

He paused and waited for reactions. There were slack-jawed looks all around, Karen uttered a, "Wow."

Will was the first one to get up, shaking Adam's hand. "Congratulations, Adam," he said in a genuine voice. "I knew you had it in you, kid."

"Thank you," was all Adam could say.

Helen was quick to follow. She had Adam in a hug before he knew it. "You've done so well." When she pulled back and looked in his eyes, she said, "Adam, I'm so proud of you."

Karen was next to hug him, even giving him a peck on the cheek. "Dude, you totally rock."

"Thanks," he laughed.

When Karen went back to her chair, Grace stood opposite Adam. He held out his hand, but Grace surprised him by pulling him into another hug. "Congrats, Rove. I know you really wanted this and you worked your ass off for it. It's pretty freakin' awesome, dude."

Adam was surprised to find tears shining his eyes. Grace displaying such open affection really meant a lot to him, but he quickly blinked them back before she could see his mush.

Will raised his glass. "A toast. To a future that's bright and full of promise."

Everyone lifted their glasses as well and Helen added, "And to Carl and Elizabeth, may they be just as proud as we are, and share this moment with us."

Adam smiled a bit of a melancholic smile that turned happy again very quickly when he looked around at all the joyous faces of friends and family. "To the future," he repeated and everyone took another sip from their glasses.

The spontaneous get-together lasted well into the night, and no one was concerned that they wouldn't be getting as much sleep as they usually did.

* * *

"Paperwork. It's all about the paperwork. Gotta have the paperwork. Applications and endless red tape. You wanna know what I do for a living? I fill out forms," Joan snarked over dinner as she laid application after application after application out between her plate and Adam's.

Big Brothers & Big Sisters

Habitat For Humanity

HUD

FHA

Fannie Mae

"Wow," he said through a mouthful of potroast.

"I know, right? You take care of the Big Brother thing and I'll contact Mr. Morgan about the housing applications. I figured I should cover all bases not knowing exactly what her situation is. One of these programs just might come through."

"Thanks for this."

"My pleasure, sweetie," she grinned at him.

* * *

"Joan, don't you have an appointment at ten?" Darlene peeked her head into Joan's cubicle questioningly.

"Oh, shoot!" Joan took at a look at the clock on her computer screen and realized it was already five past ten. "I got wrapped up in some other stuff. Is Mrs. Morgan already here?"

"I think Lucy put her in the meeting room that you booked," Darlene explained.

"Okay, cool, I'll be there in a minute."

Darlene disappeared again and Joan quickly took a sip from her bottle of water. She locked her computer and grabbed the folder she had already prepared before she went into the meeting room.

Mrs. Morgan was already sitting at the table, looking like she'd rather be somewhere else. Joan felt even more guilty for being late. She extended her hand as she said, "Mrs. Morgan, I'm so sorry I'm late. Busy morning. Would you like anything to drink?"

Mrs. Morgan shook her head. "No, I'm good."

Joan sat down opposite her, trying to keep a positive attitude. "Thank you for coming, I hope you found the place all right."

"Had to take two buses to get here, but once I was in the neighborhood, I couldn't miss it with the directions you gave me." She paused and looked at Joan.

And the hardship of the trip made Joan feel even worse for making her wait. She naïvely hadn't considered that the Morgans might not have a car. "Well, I'm really glad you made it. I hope it'll be worth your while in the long run."

"So, what exactly is this about?"

_Straight to the point,_ Joan noted. Okay, she was ready to lay out what she and Adam had talked about before. But how would she start without making this awkward? "Well, you and Adam talked about how it would probably be a good idea to get your family away from the guys that Jamal got in trouble with, right?"

"Yes, we did. And I'm not thrilled with the idea."

"I know. And I understand that. It's a big change. But what if you don't do it and he just falls right back in with those guys when he gets out?"

Mrs. Morgan merely shook her head as tears formed in her eyes. "Miss Girardi—"

"Joan, please."

"Joan, I want Jamal and his brother to have a chance at a decent life, but the idea of leaving the people I know terrifies me. You gotta understand that."

"I do, Mrs. Morgan, I assure—"

"And what about my job? I already have to ride the bus for an hour to get there. You gonna move us even further away?"

"What if we could find something closer?"

"You think that's possible?"

"We won't know until we try." There was still skepticism in the woman's tired eyes. "Can I show you something?"

Mrs. Morgan only nodded.

Joan produced Jamal's collage from the folder she had brought, the one he had signed and given to Adam. "Jamal did this on his very first day in Adam's art class."

Mrs. Morgan took it from her and studied it closely.

"The assignment was to do something to illustrate the word 'mirror'."

"Mirror?"

"That's what Jamal sees in the mirror. The world looking back at him."

Mrs. Morgan nodded as a slow understanding came over her.

"Pretty cool, isn't it? Adam thinks Jamal has unlimited potential. He's talented, he's hard-working, he's smart. He's got it in him to go to college and make a career of his art. But in order for that to happen, we have to get him out of Juvy and he's gotta stay out of trouble. How's he realistically supposed to do that if he's still around the guys who got him into this whole mess in the first place?"

Joan opened the folder and slid it across the table to show to Mrs. Morgan. It had literature and applications for _Fannie Mae_, _Homes and Communities_ and _Habitat For Humanity_, all programs dedicated to helping fund homes for low-income families. Joan explained all of them to Mrs. Morgan, laid out different approaches to her, tried to show her all her options.

Throughout the whole thing, Mrs. Morgan remained carefully neutral, and Joan couldn't blame her. It wasn't the greatest of positions to be in. But she sincerely hoped that Mrs. Morgan would at least allow her to submit applications for the programs.

When Joan was finished, Mrs. Morgan was quiet for several seconds before she said, "This all sounds really great in theory, but don't most of these programs wait-list people for years?"

"They do. But I might be able to cut through some of the red tape a little faster if you'll let me try. I've helped other families get into programs when there was real, eminent need. And I think that certainly applies in this case, don't you? Look at it this way: You've got nothing to lose at this point."

Mrs. Morgan sighed, then said, "All right. What do we do?"

"We'll start with the applications. We can do them all online, right from my desk. Did you bring all the documents I asked for?"

Mrs. Morgan pulled a folder from her bag and handed it to Joan.

"Let's go see what we can do," Joan said, standing. She gathered her things and indicated that Mrs. Morgan should come with her. "It might take a couple of days to hear anything concrete. We can meet again when I get the replies. Uh, what time do you take lunch at the hospital, I'll come to you."

Mrs. Morgan smiled at her for the first time. "That'd be a huge help, Joan. I'd appreciate it."

Joan returned her smile. "Did Jamal show you the pictures we printed for him of our mural?"

"He did."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Mrs. Morgan nodded, another tentative but genuine smile crossing her face as they made their way down the hall to the bullpen.

"You have to see it in person. When Jamal comes home, we should have a cookout with the families. My mom was Adam's art teacher in high school. She really wants to meet Jamal."

In half an hour, she had Mrs. Morgan on her way back to work, where she would already have to pull two extra hours just to make up for the travel time it took her to get to Joan's office. Joan was glad to take that burden off the working mom's shoulders next time. It was no big deal for her to drive two exits down the highway to have lunch with Mrs. Morgan in the hospital cafe. It was an ordeal for Mrs. Morgan to come uptown.

Sitting back down at her desk, after seeing Mrs. Morgan off, the first thing she did was call Adam at work to tell him that the apps were in. They were on their way.

* * *

"What would you guys say if I told you the theme for this week's assignment is freedom?" Adam asked, leaning back on his desk in front of his students.

"I'd say that's a pretty cruel joke, homes," said Jorge.

The others agreed. Loudly.

"Hang on a minute," Adam said above the din, raising his hands to get their attention. "What I mean is, this week, you're free to do anything you want. Draw, paint, design, build, whatever medium you choose."

"Sounds to me like you were too lazy to come up with a real assignment," Big John joked.

"I thought about it a lot, in fact. I even got clearance for some more tools."

"All right!" rose from someone and the others whistled and hooted and whooped and cheered.

"Nothing too fancy. And the same deal applies. You'll sign them in and out and no one leaves until everything's accounted for. Thing is, we still don't have a lot of the things I know you guys want to work with. So here's the deal. If you can't build what you want for lack of tools, you'll use these."

He sat two cases atop his desk and opened them. "I borrowed a couple of laptops from my office that are fully loaded with programs I can help you use. If that doesn't work, you'll improvise. You'll do the best you can with what we can get. That'll be part of the deal, how well you can adapt."

A few faces lit up at that. Big John's jaw was hanging in awe as he stared at the laptops.

"The assignment will go on until you're ready to turn it in. If it takes a few weeks, that's okay. This will account for one quarter of your grade. We'll do another big assignment in the last few weeks of our time together."

Everyone looked at each other and a chorus of chatter filled the air.

"I'm gonna give you guys a little time here to talk this over and see what you can come up with." He went around behind the desk and booted up each of the laptops while the guys tried to figure out what to do with their "freedom".

Ten minutes later, he quieted everyone down and said, "All right, let's go around the room. You can tell us all your idea or pass and then come up and talk to me privately about it. Big John, you go first."

"I wanna build the perfect football stadium for my fantasy team, man."

Adam nodded. "Not bad, okay. Obviously, you'll be on one of the computers and I've got this program that's gonna make your head spin."

He got a big grin out of Big John with that.

"Jamal, what do you wanna do?"

"I'll pass."

"All right, you're my first appointment after we finish here. Peter? What about you?"

"Um... I wanna paint the ultimate album cover for my favorite band."

"Who's that?"

"Eve Of Destruction."

Jorge let out a sharp laugh. "He wants to paint porn, man!"

Adam looked at Peter. He wasn't familiar with the band so he wasn't sure what Jorge was talking about. Peter blushed and Adam shook his head, "What?"

"Eve is an all-girl metal band. And they're hot, man," Jorge elaborated. "Barely wear nothin'."

Adam shrugged and smiled. "Well, I've certainly got no objection."

"All right!" Jorge laughed again, clearly pleased that he might get to see something a little porny.

Peter grinned a bit sheepishly.

"Jorge, you go next."

"Well, you know, at home, I work at my brother's shop, restoring classic cars. And I like to draw classic cars. I wanna draw my own classic car calendar."

"Great. Can't wait to see it."

"I need these special pencils though."

"I know exactly what you're talking about, the colored ones with the really soft points, right?"

"Yeah."

"Got 'em. Brought my own from home."

"Right on, man."

After everyone else in the room told their idea and went to work on the planning of it, Adam called Jamal up to his desk. The others were talking among themselves and paying no attention to them.

"Would you think I was crazy if I said I want to do something like this?" Jamal asked quietly, showing Adam the graphic novel he'd been hooked on.

Adam was a little surprised, but pleasantly. "No way. I love graphic novels." He took it from Jamal and thumbed through it. "Never read this one."

Jamal was as excited as little kid at the prospect of turning Adam on to something new. "Oh dog, it's sick! Check it out." He reached over and turned to his favorite page, the book still in Adam's hands. "Look at this."

It was beautiful. A hill of skulls under a pale blue moon. Adam looked at the cover again. _The Vampire Lestat. _Ah, yes. Daerick Gross. Great artist. "Can I borrow this?" he asked.

Jamal looked reluctant.

"You know I'll bring it back," Adam reassured him.

"You better, man. It belongs to the prison library."

Suddenly, Adam had a thought. "Would the prison library let me donate a whole shitload more of these?"

"For real?"

"I have a ridiculous collection. You have no idea."

The smile that reached Jamal's eyes gave Adam hope. "Listen, I have this idea I wanted to run by you," he said.

"Okay."

"After class."

Jamal nodded. "Listen, if I'm gonna do this, I need a big pad like that," he pointed to the ubiquitous one that still stood on the tripod beside Adam's desk. "And some pencils and markers."

"Take the pad."

Jamal smiled and took it off the stand. Adam signed out pencils and black markers with both fine and wide tips to him. Jamal made his way back to his table and began to make sketches of what he wanted to do.

Everyone was buzzing right along. Adam sat back for a moment and surveyed the scene. Watching them let their imaginations run wild, he finally felt like he might have a handle on this teaching thing after all.

He got Big John set up on one of the laptops and showed him the basics of 3DPro, the design program he often used in his job. Big John was a quick study, he obviously had some experience with imaging software. As Adam explained the functions, Big John told him that he'd designed a website for his friend's band. When Adam asked what kind of music they did, Big John just said, "Hardcore Goth Metal." Adam didn't ask any further questions.

For the rest of the lesson, Adam helped the guys with whatever issues of questions that came up. It was the best class so far. After class, Jamal helped him clean up, like always.

Adam asked him, "You ever heard of Big Brothers & Big Sisters?"

"Sure. There's a poster for it at the rec. Brody's into that, right?"

"Yeah." Adam closed up and stowed the laptops in their cases. "I, uh... I was wondering if maybe you might wanna be my Little Brother. I mean, you've already got the internship waiting for you. Getting you into a mentoring program could possibly help you get out of here a little faster."

Jamal stopped what he was doing and studied Adam's face for a moment, reading only the open question there. He had no idea how respond. It was the last thing he expected.

"And maybe this way you'll finally believe me when I say that I'm here for you," Adam continued.

"You'd really do this?" Jamal asked when he finally found his voice.

"In a heartbeat. And I'll tell you something else. Joan met with your mom the other day and they put in applications with some housing programs. Maybe we can get you guys into a house in a better neighborhood."

"Whoa. Playing God a little bit there, aren't ya?"

Adam couldn't stop a small laugh from escaping him at that suggestion. "Not at all. We're just trying to figure out how to help you make things better so when you get out, you stay out."

"And you think moving us into some lily white neighborhood is gonna do that? There's bad kids in the best neighborhoods."

"I know. But if you get out and go back to the old neighborhood, how do you protect yourself? How do you protect Malcolm from falling into the same traps you did?

Jamal contemplated that and came up with no answer.

"What if you could make a fresh start where no one knows you? Where you're not bound to anyone who could drag you back into trouble?"

"That wouldn't suck... And my mom's okay with this?"

"Reluctantly okay."

Jamal nodded in concession.

"So, what do you think? Should I sign us up for the program?"

"Looks like I'm not gonna get rid of you anytime soon anyhow. Why not make it official?"

Adam laughed, "Okay then." He took some papers out of his portfolio. "I need to ask you a few questions for the application."

They got through most of them before, Naylor, the block CO returned to take Jamal back to his pod. "Morgan!" came his booming voice.

Adam went to the door, where Dewey Smith was still posted. "Dewey, can we have, like, two more minutes." He explained why and Dewey assured his colleague that he would escort Jamal back to the block himself in just a couple of minutes, and see Adam out too.

"Good enough," said Naylor. "I need to hit the head anyway."

* * *

Adam put in the application in person before work the very next morning. He explained the situation to the counselor, Miss Emily Matthews and asked if the required interview with both applicants could be conducted right away. Miss Matthews said that she would process the paper work immediately and call him with an answer in a day or so. He took her business card and Joan called her the next morning to see if there was anything she could do help speed up the process. She and Miss Matthews struck up an instant rapport and Joan hung up feeling certain that everything possible was being done.

On Thursday, Miss Matthews conducted a brief phone interview with Adam. It went very well. She was impressed with his sincerity and charmed by his quiet determination to help a young man in need. She ended the call by scheduling a meeting with both Adam and Jamal together at the prison on Sunday, after class. It was visiting day which made it easy for Jamal, but it was also her day off. She had a full calendar for the next week and a half so there was no way to meet with them during regular business hours. She would have to sacrifice a couple of hours on Sunday herself, if she was going to do this favor for a very nice couple going very far out of their own way for the sake of a kid most people would probably write off.

She was just as impressed with Jamal as she was with Adam. He showed her pictures of his mom and his little brother. He showed her some of the panels he'd drawn for his graphic novel and told her his story idea. He talked about how excited he was to start the internship with Adam's company. Adam beamed at him, seeing him so enthusiastic. It reminded him of the boy he'd first met in his own backyard. And how excited he had been that day to add an artistic touch to that yard.

It wasn't even really a question anymore. By the time the interview was over, he was certain that they'd be accepted into the program. The rules said that all the data had to be reviewed by a panel, but the counselor's recommendations were a large part of the decision. Miss Matthews said she would call them within a day or so and let them know if they were accepted or not.

Two days later, Adam could barely hold onto his cell phone when she called to say they were in. He shocked himself by letting out a loud, "Yes!" Heads turned in the office and he smiled and shrugged apologetically at a few of his co-workers.

At home that night, Joan had tears in her eyes when he told her, "Now we can really get started."

She kissed him joyfully.

* * *

"Mr. Rove, Jamal," Mr. O'Connell gestured toward the chairs that were grouped around the round extra table in his rather spacious office. Adam and Jamal sat down. Jamal looked nervous. Adam noticed he had made it a point to wear a clean, crisp shirt today, for which he gave him credit. Obviously Jamal was very much aware of the fact that this meeting could change everything for him.

Mr. O'Connell looked at Adam curiously. "It's not every day that one of our tutors requests a meeting with me about the future of one of our residents. So, what have you got for me?"

Adam was glad that Mr. O'Connell seemed to have a pretty open attitude about the whole thing. And he noted that he hadn't said 'inmate' to Jamal. "Several things, actually," Adam said. He had the impression that Mr. O'Connell wasn't interested in meaningless banter, probably couldn't afford to be with such an important job in a prison.

Mr. O'Connell leaned back in his chair. "I'm all ears."

Adam quickly cleared his throat and looked briefly at his young friend. "Jamal's doing great in art class. I sent you some pictures of some of the things he's done."

"Yes, very nice work, Jamal."

"Thanks."

"So you can see that he's very talented and he's really conscientious about his work. As I've gotten to know him better, we started to talk about what's going to happen to him when he finishes his sentence. I think he's got a really bright future ahead of him, Mr. O'Connell. And I'm here to help make sure he has a chance to pursue it."

Adam watched Mr. O'Connell raise one eyebrow—maybe in surprise, maybe in curiosity—but he went on unperturbed. "I've been checking into our options, things we can do to help him. And we've come up with what I hope is a viable plan." He paused to gauge Mr. O'Connell reaction to what he'd laid out so far.

Mr. O'Connell just nodded and said, "Okay, let's hear it."

Adam breathed out an inaudible sigh of relief that O'Connell seemed to be game before he explained what they wanted to do. He described the internship that he had secured at Liquid Designs, told him what sort of work they'd be having Jamal do.

He told him about getting into the Big Brothers/Big Sisters program.

Mr. O'Connell seemed quite impressed with the notion that Adam was willing to take on such a burden. "That's an awful lot of faith you're putting in this young man, Mr. Rove."

"Yes sir, but I believe in him," Adam said. He went on to explain how he'd met Jamal in the first place. He told him about Joan and how she was working on securing a new housing situation for the Morgans. He assured him that Jamal was going to take the GED, or preferably get caught up enough to complete his senior year the in the fall, if he could get out of jail by then. To prepare for that eventuality, he would work hard in all his classes in Juvy, including art. And that meant extending Adam's tenure as volunteer teacher so that he could continue to work with Jamal and the other guys.

If Jamal would commit to doing all of these things, Adam told Mr. O'Connell, he would like to get Jamal a meeting with a juvenile judge to explore the possibility of getting his sentence reduced by a month or two so. Then he could move into a new place with his family and take the equivalency test to see if he could go back to high school as a senior.

While Adam was going through all these details, Jamal looked out the window that faced the lawn in front of the building. It was the first glimpse he'd had of the outside world in months. Even though the windows were barred, Jamal suddenly felt as if it was all within reach. Sometimes, when he was moving through Hogan's artificially lit interiors with no windows to the outside, he felt so far away, so detached from the world outside the walls. It felt a bit surreal to think that he might be free to roam wherever he wanted again in just a few months, if this meeting went well.

He was jerked back to reality when he heard Mr. O'Connell say, "So, Jamal, would you mind telling me a little about your take on this? Do you think you could stick with these commitments?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure," he stammered, suddenly at a loss for words. "I mean... more than anything, I just wanna get back to school and doing my art. Since Adam started his class, it's all I can think about. I know I can make it work if you'll give me the chance. I promise you, I'll do whatever it takes."

Adam smiled hearing that. He had a good feeling about this.

Mr. O'Connell looked at Jamal a little more seriously now. "You do realize that this is not an easy way out, don't you? You will be obligated to these programs for quite some time. You can't just make promises to get out of here a little quicker and then bail once you're on the outside. If we can manage any kind of early release, it will be conditional. I need you to understand that."

Jamal nodded. "Adam's made that pretty clear already."

Mr. O'Connell looked at Adam, and Adam attested to the fact. "Yes, we've talked about that. He knows what it all means. And I'll be his Big Brother. I'll make sure he sticks to it."

Mr. O'Connell put his palms flat on the table in front of him. "Well, it sounds like you've put a lot of thought into all of this, weighed all the options. It looks like a pretty solid plan to me. Jamal, I hope you also understand the gravity of having Adam and his fiancé help you out in this way, and take such responsibility on for you."

"Yes, sir, I do," Jamal said with conviction. Though he really hadn't thought about it too seriously until Mr. O'Connell said it flat-out like that.

"Then I'll see if I can arrange a meeting with a judge and put in a good word for you. We might be able to reduce your sentence by at least a month."

There were smiles all around the table, from all three of them. Jamal looked as if he was about to cry for a split second, but he quickly composed himself. Adam thanked Mr. O'Connell, as did Jamal before they left. Adam agreed to keep Mr. O'Connell in the loop, so that they could move forward when the time was right.

They were met by Dewey Smith in front of the office, so that he could escort Jamal back to his pod. Adam walked with him to the exit, which was on the way. He looked at Jamal, still smiling. "I'd say that went well."

Jamal couldn't say anything for a few seconds, still overwhelmed that this guy who was a stranger just a few short months ago was putting his ass on the line for him. "Listen, uh," he addressed Adam as he stopped walking for a moment, "I just wanna say... Man, I don't know what to say." He laughed at his own ineptitude. "I... I really appreciate what you're doing for me and my family."

Adam nodded, realizing that this was the most serious, most earnest and most heartfelt thing he'd ever heard Jamal say. "Don't thank me yet. We've still got a long way to go. It won't all be easy, Jamal."

"Yeah, dog, I know that."

"Good," Adam said as they resumed walking. When they reached the bottom of the stairs where they would part ways, he simply said, "So, see you Sunday."

"Sunday," Jamal smiled.

"See ya, Dewey," Adam said to the CO.

"Have a good one, Adam." Dewey Smith said as he led Jamal away.

As Adam walked through the doors that were buzzed open for him, his heart swelled for a second. They had taken another huge step in making sure that Jamal got what he needed, and he was more confident than ever that they would actually succeed.

* * *

_**END PART FOUR**_


	29. Probation :: Part 5: Stand Up

_**Chapter 22**_  
**Probation**

**- Part 5: Stand Up -**

_by TeeJay & Sisterdebmac_

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_**Authors' Note:**  
"You know, when you're all alone and you're on your own and you feel stripped down to the bone. When you're lying down in the dust and a bloody dirty crust is running up and down your nose. Spit it out, brother, say it loud, brother, come on: Enough is enough, I'm too tough to give it away, one of my demons will pay for these crazy puzzles I face every day. You're falling down, you hit the ground, you must rebound—stand up, my friend. When morning come, you can get some, keep moving on—get up again." —Seeed_

_Again, t__hanks to all the readers of Butterflies, especially those of you who have reviewed it. We couldn't do this without you._

_**Synopsis for Part 5: **__Success and a huge setback on the path toward Jamal's freedom._

_**Rating For Chapter: PG-13**__ for strong language, violence & adult themes._

_**Rating for Part 5: PG-13**__ for language, violence & adult themes._

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool.  
_

* * *

"You look familiar," Adam said to Judge Amy Gray as he followed her into her chambers with Jamal, Mr. O'Connell, Mrs. Morgan, and an armed escort right behind him.

"Ever been in juvenile court in either Arcadia or Hartford, Connecticut, Mr. Rove?"

"No, Your Honor."

"Then maybe I just have one of those faces," she smiled at him. "Have a seat, gentlemen, Mrs. Morgan. I only have an hour break before my next session."

Adam and Jamal took a seat at the rectangular table across from the judge, Mrs. Morgan and Mr. O'Connell flanking them.

Judge Gray briefly looked at Jamal before returning her eyes to the paperwork in front of her. "So, Mr. Morgan, I've read your file. I've spoken to Mr. O'Connell and your mother previous to this meeting. Mr. Rove, I read your statement. I've seldom seen so many people rally behind a young man in your position. What do you attribute that to?"

"Uh... Well, my mom always tries her best, Your Honor. Of course she's here with me. And Mr. O'Connell, I don't know exactly why he's helping me. Probably because of Adam." He stole a quick glance at him. "All of this is because of him. I kinda knew there was something about the dude when I first met him. I don't know if I can explain it, but it's something about the way he sees things."

Judge Gray looked at Jamal again, and there was that certain disconcerting doubt in her eyes that made Jamal nervous as she said, "He certainly sees a great deal in you. He sent me pictures of your artwork. You're very talented."

"Thank you," he muttered.

Her tone became slightly sarcastic. "I also saw the police photos of some of the graffiti you've been grabbed up for over the years."

"Your honor, I haven't been doing that for a long time."

"I know. You graduated to burglary."

Jamal looked down at his hands in shame. "Yes, Your Honor, I did. And I know you have no reason to believe me when I say this, but I will never do anything like that again."

Amy Gray rubbed her forehead. She'd had a nagging stress headache there all morning. "You're right, Mr. Morgan. As you can imagine, those promises are a dime a dozen in this room." As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn't. She wondered for a second when had she turned into a cynic?

Jamal's voice yanked her back to reality. "All I can say is that the people in this room have given me every reason in the world to keep that promise."

"Well, I certainly hope that's true." Judge Gray looked through the documents that lay before her once again and the room went silent for a long time. Finally, she looked up at the group again. It felt like the world hung at her lips.

"If I agree to this, Mr. Morgan, you will sign a contract. It will stipulate that you will serve three years of probation and report to a probation officer, in person, once a week. You will have no contact with drugs, alcohol or weapons of any kind. You will participate in the Big Brothers & Big Sisters program. You will finish high school or get your GED and you will hold a steady job—preferably the internship Mr. Rove has secured for you. You will complete at least one year of higher education at minimum. I'd like to see you go to college, but trade school would also be an acceptable alternative."

As she spoek, Judge Gray glanced at Jamal's mother, happy to find her attentive to the point that she seemed to be ticking off each of the conditions in her head as they were recited. She returned her focus to Jamal. "Mr. Morgan, if you're ever found to be in breach of any part of the contract, you will be returned to Corrections immediately to serve out the rest of your sentence. Do you understand?"

Jamal met her eyes and said in a confident tone, "Yes, Your Honor, I do."

"And you agree?" she asked him.

"Absolutely."

"Mrs. Morgan, I understand that you're working with social services to secure a better housing situation."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Have you made any progress?"

"We're wait-listed with Habitat, and Mr. Rove's fiancé is trying to expedite that with eminent need paperwork."

The judge made a note in the case file. "I'll check on that, see if there's anything I can do."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Mrs. Morgan said.

"Mr. O'Connell, are you ready to sign off on this deal?"

"Yes, Your Honor, I am. Once in a while, we get to do something for these young men that we can honestly say we know is the right thing to do. Once in a while we meet one who clearly is not already a lost cause by the time he enters the system. I think we get so cynical sometimes that we lose sight of the fact that our job is to help those who can be helped. Nobody's giving Jamal a free ride. He's committing to a lot of hard work. If we give him this chance, he knows it's up to him to make the best of it. I've been keeping an eye on him for weeks. Pretty much all he's ever shown me is that he's worthy of this leap of faith."

Judge Gray nodded. If Hogan Corrections hadn't given up on Jamal Morgan, how could she? She looked over at Adam. "Mr. Rove, do you have anything to add?"

"Your Honor, I almost threw my life away when I was Jamal's age. But some wonderful people reached out to me, wouldn't let me. Six years later, I'm about to marry into their family. It wasn't easy. Nothing good ever is. But you better believe that nowadays I'm a firm believer in reaching out to people. Jamal Morgan's gonna be somebody someday. Well, of course he already is somebody. What I mean is that one day people will know his name. He has something special to give to the world. And he has people who love him just because he's an honest, caring, smart, funny guy. I talked to his Aunt Shylene the other day and she had some stories."

Jamal looked embarrassed, but amused. His mother couldn't suppress a quick grin, knowing full well what stories her sister would tell.

Adam smiled at them. He shocked himself and his young friend with his little speech. Of course he'd been going over and over in his head what he should say. But in the end, he just spoke from the heart. Continuing with, "Your Honor, he's never been violent. He's always done good time. Aside from the tagging, he wasn't getting any kind of kick from breaking the law."

"The court doesn't care if he was deriving pleasure from his crimes, Mr. Rove."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor, what I meant to say is that he chose to do the tagging. But he executed the burglaries under threat from others."

"Which might be relevant if anyone else was ever linked to the home and car burglaries Mr. Morgan was convicted of, but no one was."

"Uh, yes, that's true," Adam stammered, realizing he should've quit while they were ahead.

"Your Honor, excuse me," Mrs. Morgan interjected. "Can I say something?"

"Of course," the judge answered.

"I know my son. He's not perfect, but he's a good boy. He has a good heart. He understands that what he did was wrong. And he will commit to everything in your contract. All he wants in this world is to come home to his family and get his life straightened out. And... and I know that you've heard it all before and there's no reason to think he's any different than the other thugs that come through here, but I promise you he _is_ different. And he will make the most out of this chance if you give it to him.

I worry about my younger son, Judge Gray, about how he's supposed to make it without his big brother around to take care of him. My boys are close, Your Honor. Jamal knows Malcolm worships the ground he walks on. He tells me all the time that he wants to clean up his act and be a good role model."

"Thank you, Mrs. Morgan," Judge Gray smiled at her and then turned back to Jamal. "Well, young man, I'm certainly impressed with the support system you've got here. I'll take all of this under advisement." She stood and the others followed suit. "Mr. O'Connell, I'll call you tomorrow with my decision. It has been a pleasure meeting you all."

No one said much as they made their way back to the parking lot after the meeting at the courthouse. Adam felt that it had gone pretty well. The judge seemed receptive of what they'd proposed. He could see things going their way. But Jamal and his mother were far more skeptical. Just as judges often felt that no one ever told the truth in court, the Morgans couldn't really imagine that a judge could see beneath the surface of someone who might appear to be just another punk with no conscience, and recognize a boy who was exactly the opposite. Their mood dampened Adam's as he watched Mrs. Morgan hug her son very hard before he was loaded back into the van for the return trip to Hogan Juvy.

Mr. O'Connell could tell she was very nervous about what might happen. "I think we're in good shape here, Mrs. Morgan," he reassured her. "I know Judge Gray. She's very fair-minded. I'll call you the second I hear anything at all, okay?" He extended his hand to her.

She shook it. "Thank you, Mr. O'Connell."

He went to his car, parked right beside the Corrections van and left her with Adam.

"And thank you, honey," she said, pulling him into a hug. "You're a Godsend."

He merely smiled at her and said, "Come on. Let's get you back to the hospital."

* * *

When the call came from Judge Gray, Bob O'Connell found that he couldn't wait to tell his young charge the news. He had Jamal escorted to his office and he rang up Adam and put him on speaker.

"Gentlemen, mark May 18th on your calendars."

Both Adam and Jamal whooped despite their best efforts to contain themselves. Mr. O'Connell only laughed. "Mr. Morgan, I'm sure you want to call your mother. Mr. Rove, we'll see you on Sunday."

When he finally got his mom on the phone, Jamal cried for the first time in his whole ordeal. He was going home. He could finally put the nightmare behind him. Only three and a half more months now and he was going home.

* * *

He had brought clay to today's class just for something fun to do to give everyone a break from sweating out their midterm project. They all loved getting their hands dirty, really physically _making_ something. Adam was just finishing off putting the items his students had created into containers, so that he could give them to Helen Girardi. The high school had a kiln and Helen had agreed to help out with the cooking.

Everyone else had left the room a while ago, including Jamal, and Adam was about to leave too, when he saw three _very_ big guys he had not seen before enter the room. The last one closed the door behind him. Adam could hear alarm bells going off in his head, but he tried to stay calm.

Like a deer in headlights, he watched as one guy with a spider tattoo on his neck approached him, the others following close behind. Adam wondered where the hell Dewey was, but before he could finish the thought, the guy stopped near Adam and glared down at him. "You the dude who got that little dickwad Jamal two months off his sentence?"

Adam knew he only had seconds to decide if he should confirm or deny that fact. One of these guys slipped behind him and pinned his arms back, wrenching them painfully.

"Answer me, bitch!" the tattooed guy demanded.

"Yes," Adam managed to get out. He knew they would do whatever they wanted to with him anyway, no matter what he said. He only prayed that Dewey would reappear or that the block CO would get back from taking the students to their pods before they could do any real damage.

"Stupid fucker even admits it," Tattooey grinned at the others and they snickered at Adam.

"What difference does it make to you?" Adam asked.

"What difference does it make? Hmmm. Well, let's see... Maybe I don't like that little cocksucker catching a break he don't deserve. How 'bout that?"

"Who does then? You?"

"Maybe I do, teacher-teacher. What the fuck do you know?"

Adam had no idea where the courage was suddenly coming from, but he heard himself say, "About you? Nothing but what you're showing me right now."

A fist slammed into his cheekbone, and it felt like his brain rattled around in his head for an hour before he could see again. He hadn't been hit since high school. He'd forgotten how much it sucked. He desperately tried to think of a way to get himself out of this mess without being beaten to a pulp. He was terrified to find himself blank.

"What do you want from me?" was all he could say.

"I want you to work one of your special magical deals for me, what do you think?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Yeah?" Tattooey cocked his head and got right in Adam's grill. "Well, you better damn well fucking try, son." He jabbed both his fists into Adam's chest to emphasize his point.

Adam gasped as the wind was knocked right out of him. With all else failing, he figured he'd better play along before they broke something. "Okay, okay, I'll make some calls. Maybe there's a program—"

"Program?" Spider-Tattoo spat. "Man, I didn't say nothing about no program!"

"That's the deal I got for Jamal. It's all I can do."

The guy scowled and took an angry step toward Adam again. One of the other thugs slapped the back of Adam's head, "What bullshit is that?"

"Maybe it sucks but at least you'd be out, right?"

Spider-Tattoo bent down to level with Adam, looking him in the eyes. "You got a point there, little man. But how do I know I can trust you?"

"You can, I swear," Adam tried to assure him in his best confident voice.

"Uh huh. Well, your butt boy, Jamal, ain't goin' nowhere right now, is he? So if you break your word to me, next time you see him, you won't recognize him."

Adam breathed a sigh of relief when Tattooey turned away from him. But then he turned back around and punched Adam in the stomach, doubling him over.

The pain was horrific. He couldn't breathe. And then he felt the guy behind him release one arm and grab him by the hair, pulling his head back. The only thing he saw was the fist coming at his face again. His jaw rattled and he felt blood and saliva spray from his lips. The guy who had held him shoved him forward and he collapsed to the floor, barely managing to catch himself on all fours. It took all of his brainpower just to draw in his next breath.

Spider-Tattoo leaned down close to his ear. "Don't you dare fuck with me, teacher-teacher. You haven't even begun to feel pain yet."

Just at that moment, the block CO returned and saw what was going on. He threw the door open and immediately radioed the command center, "SORT to classroom 9, now!"

He pulled out his billy club and bounded into the room. "Mayer! Step away. Right now!"

Colby put his hands in the air mockingly and took a couple of steps away. He laughed at his boys, "Oops, Daddy's home. We're in wicked trouble now."

The three guys stepped up into a line and moved toward the lone CO. Adam looked away, afraid of what might come next for the poor man. And then he heard commotion down the hall. Seconds later, he saw a team of six men enter in riot gear with pepper spray and batons, the one in the lead carrying a Tazer.

Clearly outmatched, the inmates had no choice but surrender. As Adam watched them getting shackled, his vision began to clear, the white spots in front of his eyes abating. He sat back on his heels with some difficulty as relief washed over him. Just as the COs were about to escort the guys out of the room, Adam spoke to Spider-Tattoo. "That was really stupid, you know?"

He narrowed his eyes, hardly intimidated. "Yeah? Why is that?"

"I think instead of getting out of here early, you'll be staying for a very long time." Adam dragged himself to his feet and met Spider-Tattoo's eyes again. "If you even look at Jamal funny, I'll make sure you're locked up in isolation for the rest of your stretch."

"What the fuck makes you think _you_ have any say in that?" the guy snickered.

"I got a Juvy judge on my side in this thing," Adam let out angrily. "Watch me."

Spider-Tattoo couldn't say anything else as he was being led from the room.

Dewey Smith, the CO who always stood watch over the classroom returned just then to see the end of the whole ordeal. "Adam, what happened?"

"Smith, where the hell were you?" the other CO asked

"I was in the head. It was an emergency."

"Well, keep him quiet for a minute. They're on the way down from the infirmary."

Dewey Smith helped Adam sit in the nearest chair. "Jesus, man, I'm sorry. I radioed for a replacement on the door, but I couldn't wait."

"Not your fault. Just my dumb luck," Adam said. Blood was still pouring from a cut inside his mouth that his own teeth had made on that second punch to the face. "I've got some paper towels in the bottom right drawer. Can you grab them?"

Dewey did so immediately, feeling like a complete failure for not protecting this innocent civilian he had in his charge.

Adam wiped away the blood and tried to stem the flow with pressure. His cheekbone throbbed and he could actually see it swelling up, under his eye line.

Before anyone could say anything more, the volunteer doctor and a male nurse arrived. They treated him on the scene and then brought him back to the infirmary for a couple of x-rays and an observation period, just to make sure he didn't have a concussion. He lay on a gurney, wondering how long he would have to wait there. He was sure they had procedures to follow when a civilian volunteer was injured--besides the medical stuff. There'd be paperwork, statements. He sighed, he'd better have someone call Joan to let her know he would be running late. Not exactly how he had imagined the day to turn out.

* * *

She was at the door even before he had exited the Forester. She met him in the driveway of their house. When she saw Adam's roughed-up face, she let out a gasp. "Oh my God, Adam, what happened?"

He felt slightly foolish that she was already making such a big thing out of it. "Relax, Jane, it's just a couple of bruises and scrapes." She took his hand and started walking him to the house when he resisted. "I have some stuff in the trunk."

"Can't that wait?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose it can."

They went inside the house and into the kitchen. She hovered near him the whole time. "Are you sure you're all right?" Joan asked.

"I'm fine. They checked me out in the infirmary. It'll be sore for a while, but I'll live."

She sat in a chair at the table and Adam followed, sitting down opposite her. "Honey, I was so scared when they called from Hogan. What happened?"

"What did they tell you?"

"That there had been an incident and I was not to worry and that you were gonna be late."

He sighed heavily. He knew she'd been going crazy waiting for them to release him all that time. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For making you worry like that."

"I would have worried more if you just hadn't come home without a phone call. So what happened?"

Adam told her the whole story, and he saw the concern and anxiety intensifying on her face as he recounted the events.

When he finished, she sat in silence for a while, before she shuddered, "My God, what a scary place. You're not going back there, are you?"

"Of course I am. The trial period doesn't finish until March. I won't be intimidated by those punks."

"Those punks?" she repeated. "Honey, they beat the shit out of you. There's no telling what they'll do to you if you go back there."

"Jane, they were caught red-handed. Dewey says they'll be in solitary for at least 30-days. The ringleader, this Colby Mayer kid, might even get transferred to a high security facility. Whatever happens, they won't let him get to me again. It'll be safe."

"It'll never be safe, Adam."

He pressed his lips together briefly. "No, you're right, it'll never be safe. But that could be said of everything we do everyday. _Life _is never safe, Jane. You know that."

She said nothing for a few seconds, then slowly nodded. "You really wanna go back, don't you?" she said, quietly caving.

"Yeah," he said in a voice just as gentle. "I've built something there. I'd be a coward to quit now."

"And after Jamal's released, are you still gonna teach the class?"

"I hadn't really thought that far ahead... I don't know. Peter's doing 18 months and he's a really talented kid. And there's this guy, John. He likes to build things, but they won't give him any tools. So we're trying to find ways around that, like I'm teaching him how I build 3D models on the computer."

"I think you just answered my question" she whispered and met his eyes. "Just promise me you're gonna be ultra-careful from now on."

He did his best to smile at her through the pain as he nodded. "I will."

* * *

_"Of course I'm human," said Lucy, still a little puzzled._

_"To be sure, to be sure," said the Faun. "How stupid of me! But I've never seen a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve before. I am delighted. That is to say—"_

Joan closed the book as soon as she heard Adam coming out of the bathroom, putting it on the bedside table next to her. She had only started reading to distract herself from the fear and dread that roiled around in her mind as she waited for him to come to bed with her.

He groaned a little in pain as he lay down. He had a bruise along the lower edge of his left ribcage, and moving his torso around sent shooting pains through his gut. It made Joan wince along with him. He closed his eyes as he lay on his back for a few seconds, then opened them and turned around to look at her.

Her brow was creased and her face bore such an expression of concern that he reached over and stroked her hairline very gently. It made her close her eyes and when she opened them, tears slid from them.

"Hey," he softly whispered, "Jane, don't... why are you...?"

She gave a little sob. "I'm sorry, ignore me. I'm... just such a crybaby, that's all."

His voice was still gentle, his thumb wiping away at her tears. "I don't think you're crying for no reason."

She sniffled, then said, "I just... I can't stop seeing you... seeing them... hit you. I—" New tears flowed from her eyes and he scooted closer and wrapped her up in his arms. "I could've lost you," she breathed.

"Shhh, no, it's okay. I'm okay, baby."

"Adam, you got lucky. You could've been killed!"

He couldn't really argue with that. The thought had crossed his mind too.

"And it would be God who set me up to lose you _again,_" she continued angrily.

"What are you talking about?"

"He set me up to smash your sculpture and I lost you. He set you up to meet... _her_, and I lost you. Why is he doing this? He said we're supposed to be together. How could He risk your life like this?"

"Jane, I'm fine. This is not about us, okay? It's about helping Jamal. I started something here and I can't just quit. I can't leave him like that."

"But you can leave me."

"I'm not leaving you." He stroked her soft hair and tried to calm her down. "I'll be safe as houses now. I told you, they put those guys in solitary. And you'd better believe the COs will be doubly vigilant about protecting all the civilian staff from now on so they don't look like chumps."

She settled into his arms and held onto him tighter than he could ever remember her holding him before. He returned her embrace and kissed her forehead very gently, careful of his injured lip.

"I barely survived being apart from you for two weeks. I can't lose you, Adam. I won't."

He kissed her hair, and lay his cheek against it lovingly. "Nobody's losing anybody."

Finally, her tears subsided and she sighed against him. "I just wish I could wipe those images from my mind." After short pause, she asked, "Were you scared?"

"Yeah, of course I was scared," he admitted. "But it all went by so fast, I didn't really have time to even think about what was happening. I just reacted and hoped the guards were nearby."

"If Dewey was outside the room, how'd those guys get in?"

He chuckled. "He had a little... bathroom-related emergency."

"It's not funny. What if he hadn't gotten back in time?"

"His replacement was on the way and he called a SORT team as soon as he got there. Jane, trust me, this is not gonna happen again. They can't let staff get hurt without serious repercussions. They're all on their toes now."

She wiped the rest of her tears away and put on a brave smile, leaning back to study his face. "You know," she said, a little mischievously suddenly, "I think you're gonna have a nice shiner by tomorrow."

"Great," he groaned. "The guys at the studio will all make fun of me."

"Yeah, well, the laugh is always on the loser," she quipped.

"Except I wasn't really the loser."

"They don't know that."

"You're not really reassuring me," he groused.

She looked at him for a long moment. When he couldn't take her eyes on him anymore, he said, "What?"

"I really wanna kiss you right now, but that split lip of yours looks like it'll hurt you if I do," she said with a slight smile.

"Don't let that stop you," he smiled back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She moved closer, kissing him very softly, very carefully. When he rose up to deepen the kiss, she moved closer yet, sliding one hand over the back of his neck, drawing him to her. He suddenly winced and tried to suppress a pained groan.

Joan immediately let go. "What did I do?"

"Nothing. Keep going," he urged her on.

She shook her head slowly and sat back, lifting up his t-shirt. Even in the dim light she could clearly see that big, ugly bruise. "Oh, God, baby," she gasped.

"It's not that bad," he assured her.

"It looks bad!"

"It's just a bruise."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Nothing's broken?"

"Nope, promise. I had x-rays and everything."

"Does it hurt much?"

"Enough to let me know it's there, but nah, not too much."

She looked down at him for a long moment. "Does this hurt?" She bent down to where the bruise was and planted very soft kisses around it, careful not to touch it.

"No," he said in a whisper. "Not at all."

"And this?" She moved the t-shirt further up and kept kissing him, nearing his collarbone.

"Jane, stop." he said breathlessly. "Stop." She did so and looked at him questioningly. "You're getting me all excited, and I don't think I'm up for that tonight."

The look on her face was pouty, but only for a second. "What if you didn't have to move?" she suggested. "At all."

He was puzzled for half a second. Then he grinned at her rather wickedly. "Oh, I could handle that."

"Okay, then, you just lie back and let me do all the work."

He nodded into the pillow and she continued kissing him, touching him, doing all the things that she knew would please him. In no time at all, she had him halfway to bliss, wondering how he ever got lucky enough to deserve a wonderful woman like her.

* * *

With one hand grabbing the edge of the kitchen counter, she leaned back against it, listlessly sipping at the glass of water she had poured for herself. Joan drew in a deep breath, but it didn't do much in terms of calming her down.

She didn't know exactly what time it was, but judging from the murky light outside, it couldn't be any later than 4 AM. It had been that accursed, vivid dream that had awoken her, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the images of a beaten and bloody Adam on a cold, dark floor in a dank, filthy room. She tried desperately to get to him, but there was a glass barrier between them. She pounded on it soundlessly, completely unnoticed. It had startled her out of a deep, paralyzing sleep.

Sitting there, hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that was only an inch away, she had looked over to find her love still fast asleep beside her. She slipped quietly out of bed and shivered all the way down the stairs and into her kitchen, where she felt grounded and safe. It was bad enough that she was having a rough night. She didn't want to wake him, after all he'd been through the day before. She realized that it was probably a good thing she had exhausted him earlier, since he could be a fitful sleeper and easily roused.

And now, standing there barefoot against the cold tile, her thoughts kept crashing into each other, and she hated herself for being such a worry wart. Adam was probably right, they'd all be on their toes now on the double. Going back to Juvy would be safer than ever for him. Still, the nagging feeling of dread remained. Deep down inside, she really did not want him to go back to that place.

Suddenly, she remember how all this started. In the end, it came back to Janitor-God. He had been the one to put Jamal back on their radar. How could He set Adam up like that? Again! Was that maybe His way of telling her that she shouldn't have brought him in on the assignment in the first place? That it should be her responsibility to carry them out, and hers alone? But what Adam was doing felt so right to him. He was putting his soul into this. It just didn't make sense that God wouldn't want it.

She put down the glass of water and said out loud, "God, are you listening? Why would you let Adam get hurt like that? What is this all about? Tell me!"

There was no answer. Of course there was no answer. At least not from God.

She heard that stupid stair at the top creak and then detected Adam's soft footsteps through the quiet house. He found her still standing at the counter. "Can't sleep?" he asked softly, joining her there where she stood.

She shook her head.

"Bad dream?"

She wasn't sure she wanted him to know. He had enough to deal with. She wanted to be supportive. So she kept quiet, and somehow she felt that by doing so, she was betraying him, betraying their trust. But stealing a glance at him, seeing that swollen patch of purple skin under his eye and his poor, fat lip made her ache. She wanted to be supportive, but she also wanted him out of that place.

Her weird acquiescence didn't go unnoticed by him, so he asked, "Jane, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, matter-of-factly.

He nodded and pushed himself away from the counter, rubbing his tired eyes. Instinctively, he wondered aloud, "You want me not to go back, right? You think what happened to me is God telling you that I shouldn't be helping with this."

Her head shot up, meeting his eyes. "What?"

His voice was still quiet, but it had an edge to it. He folded his arms across his chest. "You heard me."

She swallowed, "I don't know. I don't know... It kinda seems like that, doesn't it? I let you in on this one, and I almost lose you. What am I supposed to think?"

He was quiet for a while before he said, "That maybe sometimes things are just hard. You've had assignments go wrong on you before. Sometimes bad stuff happens when we put ourselves on the line for what we believe in. Life kinda sucks that way."

"That's a fine philosophical point, but the reality is, anything could've happened to you today. Why would He allow you to get hurt if you're supposed to be in there?"

"What if somehow He stopped me from getting hurt _worse_? The CO showed up before I could get more than a couple of bruises and a lumpy lip." He leaned in with a crooked grin, hoping he could bring her around to his way of thinking. "Come on, Jane... Maybe the reality is that He's looking out for me in there."

"Then why would He let you get beaten up at all? Even a little bit?"

He looked up to the ceiling for a brief moment. "Well, for one thing, maybe it was about getting Colby and his gang locked away. I think he's really got it in for Jamal. Maybe if he hadn't gone off on me, something worse would've happened to Jamal. I don't know. Maybe I was removing an obstacle for this whole thing we're trying to do here."

She watched his face change as he contemplated what he now seemed to feel was the larger meaning. He looked quite pleased with the idea that this could be God's reasoning.

"Wouldn't they lock him up if he hurt anybody? Not just you?"

"Sure."

"Then why did _you_ have to be the one who got hurt? Why not one of the guards or something? Why do I have to stand here in the middle of the night, waking up from a horrible nightmare where you get beaten to a bloody pulp and I can't get to you to help you? Waking up with the fear in the pit of my stomach that you're half dead, and I can see you lying there but I can't do a damn thing about it."

She stopped, momentarily surprised by her own outburst. That wasn't what she had wanted to say.

His voice grew even more quiet, the way it would when he was trying to make sense of things. "Jane, who are you really angry with here? Me or God?"

"Both of you, dammit!" She couldn't hold back now, she hated it when she was getting more and more riled up and he would go quieter and quieter. "Because He's not here and He's not fucking talking to me! Because it doesn't make sense! Because I know I can't stop you from going back in there and I just can't take it. I can't take it anymore!"

He breathed out slowly, lifting his hands defensively. "Okay. Okay. I think you need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down," she said angrily.

He just stood and didn't say anything for a moment, then pressed his lips together before he spoke with resolve. "Okay, then you tell me, how do we do this if I can't keep working with Jamal?"

"Jesus, I don't know, Adam!"

"Well, _that_ helps," he said sarcastically.

"We can figure that out later."

His face fell in disappointment.

"All I know is, I want you stop going there, stop going to Hogan," she continued.

"You know I can't do that," he said, his voice going quieter and lower still.

"You care more about Jamal than you do about us, about your own life, is that it?"

Why was she stuck in that loop? It was such a chick move. He hated that he felt that way when he knew she was only scared, but he did. Total chick move. Hell, he was afraid too, but not irrationally so. "I wish you wouldn't say that," he grumbled. He was really tired and they'd already tread these waters before. "You know it's not true."

"Well, it certainly feels that way to me."

"Oh, come on, Joan! Aren't you being a little selfish?" he said, and he regretted it the instant it was out of his mouth. She went silent and he knew he'd gone too far. He rubbed his face with one hand and whispered, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

With those words he left the kitchen and went into the living room, collapsing in an exhausted heap on the couch, head in his hands. Joan's shoulders slumped. Not only did she feel betrayed by God, she had also managed to upset Adam. And damn it, she only wanted to be supportive... But what the hell did that phrase even mean? What was supportive? How could she _be _that? Should she encourage him to go back into the lion's den? It was all too much. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. Like a balloon that was oozing air, she felt her strength dissolve and suddenly she had to fight back tears.

She hated arguing with Adam. And why in the hell were they doing this in the middle of the night? She just wanted to go back to bed, but she knew they couldn't until they made things right again, so she followed him into the living room and sat down next to him on the couch.

They didn't say anything for what seemed like a small eternity. She finally broke the silence. "Look, maybe you're right. Maybe I am being a little selfish. But can you really blame me? What would you do if you were in my shoes?"

He turned his head to look at her. "I don't know," he said honestly. "The only thing I do know is that I can't quit."

"Are you sure there's no other way?"

"I'm sure." He turned around so that he was facing her. "Look, I know you're scared. I know you don't want me to go back. But this is something that I really wanna do, Jane. If you could see what's going on in there, if you could see how sometimes all it takes for is someone to give these kids a little encouragement and they do things they never thought they had in them...

"Forget that God asked you to do this for a second. You see every day how much of a difference people can make if they just try. Everybody you work with accomplishes great things because they refuse to back down at the first sign of trouble. I'm not ready to back down either."

"That's all very commendable and noble of you, I just don't understand why it has to be this hard."

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I really think you're blowing things out of proportion. Sure, there will always be a risk if I go back, but I'm telling you, the chances of something like that happening to me again are minimal." He paused for a moment, wondering how he was ever going to ease her mind. "I'd ask you to come and be my bodyguard, but then I'd only be worried about the kids, so..."

She smiled in spite of herself and a long, weary sigh and then a yawn overtook her. Her eyes filled with moisture. "God, you do try my patience, Mr. Rove."

He locked onto her bleary gaze, reading reluctant approval in them. "I know," he smiled quietly as he reached for her hand.

She edged closer and let him put his arms around her. They settled into the couch, too beat at the moment to take on the stairs. The silence engulfed them and muted the pain, muted the fear. A temporary balm. For the moment, it would have to do.

* * *

As Joan neared Skylight Books, and smelled the delicious aroma of the gourmet blend wafting out of the coffee shop that now held the space one door down, a brief melancholy washed over her. Every time she walked by the store, she was transported back in time. Those days long left behind when she had worked here seemed so much easier in retrospect. Well, one thing hadn't changed, loving Adam was still a complicated prospect.

The old doorbell was still intact and it made its familiar jingle-jangle as she entered. Sammy sat at the counter engrossed in a thick hardcover book. He barely paid any attention to her at first glance.

She wandered into the stacks and picked through a few books before finding exactly the one she was looking for.

She made her way back to the front to the checkout counter. When Sammy looked up, he finally recognized just who it was who graced his somewhat old-fashioned bookstore with her presence. He stood. "Joan?"

She laid the book she'd selected on the counter.

She was surprised to see him smile at her, like a real human being. "I haven't seen you in, what a few years?" he asked.

"At least. Don't really have a lot of time to read."

"So what brings you in here now?" He turned her book around on the counter to read the title and she just knew he was going to say something condescending about it. "_The Lovely Bones_," he read aloud.

"Lately, I've had this thing about reading the books that were adapted into movies I love."

"As pop culture goes, not a bad book. And I guess Peter Jackson did a pretty good job with the movie."

"Wow, Sammy, you've mellowed."

He looked appalled at that assessment.

"Or not," she snarked. "There's another one I'm looking for but I didn't see it. _My Left Foot_." Great movie. Adam had turned her on to it. One of his favorites.

"Biography."

"Right."

"It's, um, over there, down that row, and to the left."

"Oh, I think I remember where to look." She took a peek at the aisles. "Unless you've reorganized."

"You're joking. Why would I do that?" He glared at her, deadpan, as if what she'd said was obviously ludicrous. "Let me know if you can't find it." He sat down again and went back to his own reading.

"Great," she nodded, with a mildly amused smirk. Same old Sammy. "Thanks."

She scanned the biographies. _What was Christy's last name again?__Brown, that's it. _She reached out toward the "B" shelf. Suddenly, she perceived a shadow out of the corner of her eye, so she lifted her head to see who it was.

She almost did a double-take when she recognized Him, the avatar she liked to call Soprano-God—a bulky middle-aged, man with dark hair, graying at the temples now. He smiled at her in that oh-so calm and wise manner of his. "Hey-ey-ey, Joanie."

Seeing him standing there, rather anviliciously holding a copy of _In The Belly Of The Beast, s_he walked up to him, not hesitating one second to utter what was on her mind. "You have some nerve showing up now. How could you do that? How could you set him up?"

He just shrugged. "I didn't set anyone up."

"Then what do you call it? You sent Adam off on this assignment and got him hurt. How could you do that?"

"You're the one who chose to get Adam involved."

"You said it was okay if he helped."

"You're free to make your own choices about who you share our work with, you know that. But you have to remember that your choices have consequences. Just like Jamal's put him in jail, the choices you and Adam made put him in harm's way."

"So you're saying it's _our _fault he got beaten up?"

"Nobody is at fault for the beating but the kids who did it."

"And they'll pay for it, right?" she asked.

"Their actions have consequences too," He smiled at her with just the tiniest twinkle in His eye. He meant for it to be comforting, but it only infuriated her more.

"But why Adam? Why would anybody wanna hurt _him_?"

"For whatever reason, some people are predatory. The boy who orchestrated the attack on Adam is in terrible turmoil. If someone doesn't stop him, he's going to destroy himself, and anyone who gets in his way. Right now, as we speak, he's talking to a clinical psychologist for the first time in his life. He's learning that there may be a chemical reason that he can't control his rage."

Joan looked at Him first with confusion, and then with a grudging sort of understanding.

"And Adam's all right, isn't he?"

"He is _now_. I don't even wanna imagine how scared he must have been." Slowly, she calmed down. Adam was right. It wasn't just a pointless, random act of violence.

God regarded her inquisitively. "I know you don't want to hear this right now, but you should also consider the possibility that this whole experience has made Adam a stronger man."

Again, Joan did not hesitate to pounce. "You mean like that time he got lost in the woods? You said the same thing then. No one should have to go through the things he's been through."

"No one should have to go hungry, no one should have to be lonely, no one should have to suffer and die from cancer, no one should have to fight in a war. The world is what you make it."

"Oh, what's this? More of your circular logic?"

"Circular is exactly right. Think about it... There's enough food in the world to feed everyone, but selfish people routinely hoard it till it goes to rot. There's enough space and housing for everyone, but oppressive people keep others impoverished and unsheltered at will. There's enough people in the world for everyone to have a soul mate and yet more of you isolate yourselves every year. And war? Well, maybe if people would stop killing each other in _My_ name..."

"You could fix all of that."

"Joanie, it's not up to me. It's up to all of you. That's the whole point of everything. It's why you're all here."

He gave her a few seconds to let it sink in before he went on, "Life is about overcoming obstacles and challenges. That's what it means to engage with the world. The more obstacles you face, the better you get at overcoming them."

"Can you at least tell me that no more bad stuff will happen to Adam if he keeps teaching at Hogan?"

"You know I can't do that. But you should've seen him in there. He was a tiger. He never flinched."

She could not suppress a smile at that image. After a moment, she sighed. "So we're on the right track?"

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Do you really have to ask? You've already accomplished so much."

"I'm just worried about him."

"I know," he smiled, touching her cheek ever so briefly and softly with affection. "You just need to have faith, Joanie. There's more work for both of you to do."

* * *

The next Sunday after class, when everyone was gone, Jamal paced the room, angrily grabbing up the supplies and trash. He knocked over the empty easel at the front of the room, reaching under it for a wadded-up piece of paper that had landed there. "Shit!" he spat, kicking it across the floor a few feet.

"What's wrong with you?" Adam asked carefully. He'd had enough of angry kids rampaging around classrooms.

Jamal stopped when he saw that he was making Adam nervous. "Why you doin' this man? Are you crazy?"

Adam leaned against the teacher's desk, crossing his arms. "No. I don't think so... I'm just trying to help you."

"By getting' yo ass whupped?"

"Well, that part wasn't in the plan." Adam looked at him for a long time.

Jamal approached him, his face stern and serious. "You need to get the hell outta Dodge while you can."

"Who says I can?"

"Oh, you most certainly fuckin' can! You don't owe me a damn thing."

"This was not your fault, okay?" Adam tried to explain to Jamal.

"Hell, I know that, dog. I didn't do it."

"You're not responsible in any way."

"I said I know that, man. You need to get your ass on up outta here. I don't need your rich white guilt."

Adam sat up a little straighter. "Jamal, that's not fair. I've never been rich."

"That ain't what it looks like from here."

"Okay, I know I've never been as poor as millions of people. But I've been living on the edge for most of my life. I lost my mom when I was really young. My dad never really recovered. I barely did, but I had to take care of him, so... He, uh, he died eight months ago."

Jamal felt rotten now, but all he could do was lower his voice and say, "Sucks, man."

"Yeah, my dad and me, we were tight, you know. We were all we had. He worked hard his whole life. When he couldn't anymore, it was my turn, that's all. That's what men do, you know? They take care of their families. And sometimes it sucks... and it's just, it's too fucking hard. But what choice do we have?"

Jamal nodded.

"You can't take care of your Mom and Malcolm from in here."

Jamal glared at him instinctively, but he softened quickly. "I know."

"What about your dad?" Adam asked Jamal.

"He split when I was five and Malcolm was a baby. He was way older than my mom and they fought all the time. I had a stepdad for about three years but he turned out to be a drunk and he… uh, he beat us. We moved up here from DC to get away from him."

"Damn," was all that Adam could mumble.

"You know, my mom's got a great job and all and she works her ass off, but it's just never enough. And I'm not one of these ridiculous brothers who need all that flashy shit to get over. I just wanna live someplace peaceful. Have plenty of food and more than two pairs of pants."

"There's nothing in this world that can stop you from having that if you really want it."

Jamal shook his head. "Talk, man. Just talk."

"More like living proof. OK, I didn't become a famous artist. But I get to do what I love to do commercially. And my job gives me the opportunity to help you. I'm where I am now because a series of events led me to an internship at a design studio, and to RISDE."

"Rizde?"

"Rhode Island School Of Design. Great school. I learned a shitload there."

"Lucky you," Jamal snickered bitterly. "They got scholarships?"

Adam maintained his calm, serious tone. "We can look into that."

"Why is this so important to you? Why you wanna save me so bad, man?"

"I've seen what you can do. Now you just need to get off your ass and do it."

"And what if I don't? You split too?"

"I'm your Big Brother. I'm not going anywhere."

Jamal's lip curled into a smile. "You _are_ a little crazy, aren't you? You got a death wish or somethin'?"

Adam pondered the question. Finally concluding, "Nah. Not anymore. I'm too happy. I'm getting married in a couple of months. Work is good..."

"Yeah, but your face still hurts, don't it?"

Adam smiled. "Gotta take my lumps, I guess. We 're not gonna let this stop us from doing all the stuff we talked about, right?"

Jamal half-nodded, half-shrugged. Before he could say anything else the CO returned to take him away.

* * *

Joan finished setting the dinner table by putting out the condiments they were likely to need, including the Miracle Whip, which was Adam's favorite thing with sandwiches or bagels. She took a step back to quickly survey the table, determine if anything was missing. When she was pretty sure there wasn't, she went out the back door to call him in.

He had gone to the shed in the afternoon, saying he wanted to work on something. She hadn't seen him since. Which she was actually glad about because he had been stressed out from work all week. Henry had dumped a really big project on him and he'd done a lot of overtime. It hadn't been that bad, but bad enough for him to not do anything after he came home in the evenings except pass out on the couch in front of the TV. And nowadays, he often spent his Saturday afternoons preparing for his Sunday art class.

But today she was glad to see him feeling energized enough to work on something in the shed, stretch his own artistic muscles for a change. She'd left him to it, taking care of the bills and filing away everything that had been piling up in the inbox that they stuck everything in that need to be kept. Not very exciting, but she had put some nice music on and finished in time to make dinner for both of them.

She opened the shed door. He was sitting at the table, sketching something, looking up when she entered.

"Hey," she said.

He greeted her back with a soft, "Hey," of his own.

Joan approached the table and looked for whatever he was working on. She picked up a sheet of sketchpad paper that had multiple black and white drawings on it, separated by boxes. It looked very much like a comic.

She couldn't make out what it was about, especially since the speech bubbles were either only sporadically filled or not at all. He had scribbled some dialogue at the bottom, clearly still toying with ideas.

She smiled a little. This was unusual. "Wow, I haven't seen you doing one of these since high school."

"Nope."

"So how come you're doing it now?"

"Jamal. He's come up with this whole elaborate graphic novel idea. I guess going through it and talking about it with him inspired me. I sat down and I just went with it. I don't know if there's any rhyme or reason to it, it just flowed out."

"It looks really cool. What's it gonna be called?"

"I don't know. Mr. Blob And The Chicken Soup?" he suggested, his face deadpan.

She laughed out loud. "You're kidding, right?"

He laughed too now. "Yeah. How weird would it be if Jamal and I ended up collaborating on this thing?"

She shrugged as she took another page from the table and looked at it. "This has real promise. It could be something really cool. Maybe you could even get it published."

He smiled at her. "I think you're getting ahead of yourself there. Me and some kid in Juvy are gonna publish a graphic novel? Yeah, right."

"You never know. The possibilities are endless." She put the page with the drawings down on the table and pointed a finger at him. "_You_," she stressed the word, "need to come to the house now. Dinner's ready."

He obliged only too happily. "Perfect timing. I'm starving." he said as he got up to follow her.

"Well, then let's see if we can't do something about that."

* * *

All Joan wanted to do was curl up in bed and hide from the world for the rest of the night and not talk to anyone.

She slammed the front door shut behind her as she entered the house and swore loudly when it hit her in the heel and knocked her shoe half off because she hadn't moved it away from the doorstep fast enough. "Ow! Fuck!" she let out in frustration. Just one more perfectly fitting mishap.

Joan closed the door shut all the way even more forcefully, this time careful that her foot was not in the way. Very uncharacteristically, she just dropped her bag and jacket in the first convenient place she could find, which happened to be the couch she passed on her way to the kitchen.

She poured herself a glass of cherry juice—the first thing she could find in the fridge, because she had been thirsty all the way home in the car. Murphy's Law kicked in. Of course she had to slosh the bright red drink over the rim of the glass so that it left a nasty stain on the light blue table cloth that she had only just put on their kitchen table yesterday. "Oh, just _wonderful_!" she muttered. She didn't even bother to attempt any damage control.

Adam had obviously heard her come home, because he came into the kitchen through the back door, oblivious to the bad mood she was in. "Oh, hey, Jane, you're home. Come here, I wanna show you something."

He gestured in the general direction of the back garden, probably meaning the shed, but Joan just let out a frustrated, "No."

His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "No?"

"No," she repeated matter-of-factly. "You should probably leave me alone right now because all I'm gonna do is yell at you."

He didn't say anything for a few seconds, then offered a careful, "Okay. Can I ask what happened?"

"To say I had a bad day would be an understatement," she retorted gruffly.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No, I don't wanna talk about it. I just want to be left alone for a minute. Why does everyone want a piece of me today?" She moved her head to one side and a vertebra in her neck made a popping noise. She drew a face. "God, I need to get out of these clothes."

With those words she went upstairs to the bedroom, leaving Adam helplessly standing in the kitchen.

In the bedroom she couldn't get out of her work attire fast enough, which somehow felt especially constraining and tight today. She didn't realize one of the legs of her jeans was still halfway turned inside out and she almost toppled over when she couldn't get her leg in. It was as if the whole world was against her tonight. Wrestling with the jeans, she finally got it on.

By then, she was so angry and frustrated that she stood there for a few moments and then just collapsed on the bed, lying on her back. The tears didn't take long to come, and she wasn't even really sure why she was crying. Maybe it was just her way of releasing all the stress of recent days and all her aggravation from this one in particular.

And at this moment she wanted nothing more than for Adam to gather her up in his arms and whisper in her ear that it was gonna be okay. She waited for him to follow her upstairs, but he didn't. God, why were men born without a radar? Because sometimes saying you wanted to be left alone actually meant you wanted a shoulder to cry on. At least in a woman's world. Obviously in a man's world it meant you indeed wanted to be left alone. Adam was usually pretty good with reading her, but not today, it seemed.

It made her even angrier, which made more tears flow down and drip onto the bedspread. She cried on her own for a few minutes until she realized that she needed to get a grip.

She sat up and wiped at her tears, then went to the bathroom to quickly wash her face and tie her hair up in a ponytail, all the while stewing over the fact that Adam didn't seem to be alarmed by her rapid exit. So he didn't care about what was bothering her, didn't care that she was feeling like shit?

Just at that moment, she heard his hesitant voice at the door. "Jane? Can I come in?"

"I don't know," she said, because she really didn't know what she wanted more—for him to stay away so that she could continue to pout and be mad at him, or for him to come in and comfort her.

"You can yell at me if you want," he told her, carefully entering the room. "You might feel better afterwards," he said half jokingly.

But she really wasn't in the mood for jokes, and he saw it in her face as soon as she came out of the bathroom. He sat down on the bed and said in a more serious tone, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just wanted make sure you're okay. I can leave if you really want me to."

She sat down next to him, but not too close. "No," she sighed. "I just... I don't know. I just had a really long, _really_ bad day."

He just nodded and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

"You know how some days just start off on the wrong foot and never get back to right again?" she asked.

He nodded again. "Yeah."

"Well, here I am, still waiting for "right" to happen. It's just this blasted project that has everyone working like mad. Turns out I made a mistake yesterday and not only did I have to spend half a day fixing it, I was also given a personal scolding about it from the boss. And then she dumped more shit on me that there was no way I could do all on my own. My phone never stopped ringing and I also had to cover for Darlene because she's sick and... I guess it was all just a little too much. And to top it off, I got in fight with Luke on the phone because he forgot to organize the birthday present for Dad that we agreed to buy together. That really tore it.

"By the end of the day, I was sitting there with a pitiful pile of stuff I had accomplished, a huge pile of stuff left to do, so I just caved in and came home. And I know my boss is gonna come to me tomorrow and demand an explanation about why I didn't finish everything. Jesus, what am I gonna tell her?"

She was near tears again because she knew she was up for a promotion and didn't want to let her boss down, maybe screwing up her chance at that promotion and a slightly better paycheck along with it.

Adam turned his head sideways to look at her. "You're gonna tell her that you did what you could today and that you're going to do your best to finish it as soon as you can. Better yet, go to her and tell her what's going on before she comes to you."

"Why does it sound so easy when you say it like that?"

His voice was deep and low when he said, "Because maybe I know what I'm talking about."

She raised her head and gave him a small smile. "Yeah, you would, wouldn't you?"

He looked at her with a sympathetic smile of his own and she felt the pressures of the day slowly ebb away. She sank sideways to lay her head in his lap, lifting her feet to rest on the bed.

When his hands reached into her hair and softly stroked it, she finally felt at home. He was smiling down at her—that sweet, Adamy smile that she hadn't realized she was longing to come home to all day. She reached for his hand and softly kissed his palm, saying, "Sometimes I think you're too good to be true."

He wisely didn't answer, just kept caressing her hairline until she sat up. The look on her face was much more relaxed. "You wanted to show me something?" she asked.

His mouth curved into another smile. "Only if you're not gonna yell at me."

"I promise."

"Okay."

He took her to the shed and stopped in front of the table. "Close your eyes."

She gave him a curious look.

"Do it," he instructed her again.

She did and heard him shuffle around with something near her. After a while he said, "Okay, open."

When she opened her eyes, her gaze fell on the easel behind the table that was facing her, and the colorful artwork that he had placed on it. It depicted four young men, comic-style, in what looked like some kind of space-faring uniform, and a young woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to... well... Joan, herself. At the top of the image it read in huge letters _SKYWALKERS - An Intergalactic Journey, by Nick MacCready and J.T. Morgan_. It looked like the cover art for a comic book.

"Whoa," she said. "That's... funky, but I like it." She took in the artwork in more detail and then remarked, "Nick MacCready?" A chuckle escaped her. "That's hilarious. But why a pen name?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It just sounds cooler somehow than boring, old Adam Rove."

Still studying the image, she cocked her head slightly. "Now, look at me and tell me it's just a coincidence that the girl bears a striking resemblance to someone you know."

"What? You don't like her?"

"Well, she looks an awful lot like me." But looking at her overly-ample cleavage, she had to add, "Sort of," to her assessment.

"Okay, I would be lying if I said it wasn't intentional. Can you blame me for wanting my fantasy girl look like the coolest, most beautiful woman I know?" With a smile he added, "You know, Jane, you've got nothing to worry about. Zoe, the girl in the book, she's smart, she's funny, she's got a great personality. I promise you'll like her."

"Oh yeah?" Joan asked jokingly.

He beamed at her. "Yeah."

"Can I read it?"

"Sure. When we _have_ something to read. This is all just still preliminary stuff. We're still toying with the basic ideas. Jamal's already so jazzed about the whole thing. I haven't seen him like this since he painted our shed."

She moved closer to him, happy to see him so energized himself. She planted a soft kiss on his lips. "Honey, this is great. For you, for Jamal. I'm so proud of you." Leaning back a little, looking at him, she added, "But did you have to make Zoe's boobs so... voluptuous?"

He leaned closer to the easel, pretending to study his creation, then he looked at Joan's gorgeous anatomy. "What? She looks perfect to me."

She gave him a playful slap on the arm. "Men!"

He just laughed and pulled her close for a long, sweet kiss, glad to have transformed her rotten mood into the giddiness they both now shared.

* * *

_**END CHAPTER**_


	30. Trials

_**Chapter **__**23**_  
**Trials**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
McPunisher is at her best. I'm sorry to put Adam through this, especially since I've done it once before in another story. But I just can't help it. ADAMNEEDSAHUG! Good thing he has Joan for that._

_**Synopsis:**  
Adam comes down with the stomach flu while Grace has her own problems to battle. But help may be within grasp._

_**Rating: PG-13 **__for adult themes and language._

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool._

* * *

"Adam," Christine addressed him. He was sitting at his desk at the studio, his head cradled in his hands. "Adam?" she tried again when he didn't react.

His head came up slowly. "Hm?" he mumbled.

"Geez, you look like death warmed over. Why don't you go home?"

Yeah, he sure felt like death warmed over. Somehow that bug that Karen caught the week before must have crawled into his system. But there was so much still to be done. He looked at the pile of design proposals that Henry had dumped on his desk earlier. He sighed. "I can't. Henry wanted me to do these by the end of the day."

"You think you can get anything done like this?"

"I don't know," he meekly admitted. "I can try."

"Okay, suit yourself," Christine gave up.

He did indeed try to concentrate on work, but it got harder when he felt his stomach getting more and more queasy. Lunch from earlier was certainly going to have to come out at some point. And that point might just be... right about now. He jumped up and hurried to the toilet, reaching the bowl just in time to double over and spill his stomach contents right into it.

It took him a moment to get up and make his way to the sink. Thankfully, he was alone in the bathroom. After he rinsed his mouth and splashed some water in his face, he went back to his desk, trying to ignore Christine's worried gaze on him. He smiled weakly, trying to convey to her that he'd be okay, she should just leave him alone.

A quarter of an hour later, he heard his Henry's footsteps approaching. His partner stood by his desk, watching him for a moment. "Adam, you look like hell. Go home."

Adam looked at him. "No, it's okay, I'll get these done today." He pointed at the designs, knowing full well that they had to be ready by morning.

Henry gave him a 'you're kidding' look. "Don't worry about those, Christine said she'll take care of them."

"No, really, I can—"

Henry interrupted him. "Adam, you're a partner now. You don't have to do everything yourself. You can delegate. Trust your team. Go home and take care of yourself. See a doctor if you don't feel better tomorrow."

He finally resigned to the thought of curling up in bed and just resting. And sleeping. Sleeping. "Okay," he said in a low voice, giving Henry a grateful nod.

Henry returned it and said, "Feel better," as he left to head back to his office.

Adam slowly packed up, gathering everything he thought he might need to work home. He hoped he'd feel a little better after some medicine and a nap. He took some of the preliminary sketches he'd done and went out to Christine's cubicle.

When he peeked his head in, Christine said, "Henry finally convince you?"

He managed a small smile. "This was your doing, wasn't it?"

She lifted her arms in defense. "Uhm... Not saying anything else without my attorney."

He handed her the sketches. "Will you see what you can do with these?" He explained the scope of work around them to her, pointing out a couple of things.

When he wouldn't stop telling her bits and pieces, she interrupted him, "Hey, relax, it's not my first time doing this, you know. Seriously, it's all good. I can handle it."

He gave her a small, grateful smile. "Thanks. You know... for this and—"

She waved him off. "No biggie. Now go home and collapse somewhere. And don't you dare come back before you're well again."

That made him laugh a little, he really liked Christine. Sometimes he thought she must have this mood radar built into her computer. She was often spot-on about what her colleagues needed or wanted.

"I get it, okay?" he said jokily.

"Go, Adam. Out with you already."

"Okay, okay," he backed up. "Leaving right now."

In the car, he got out his cell phone and called Joan. One of her colleagues answered, telling him she was in a meeting. He told her to give Joan the message that he was heading home sick.

* * *

At home, his first stop was the toilet. Again. God, why did he have to have that hamburger and fries earlier? Spending too long kneeling on the cold, tiled bathroom floor, he finally dragged himself up, got rid of his work clothes and climbed into bed in his boxers and t-shirt.

A while later, he was rudely awakened by the phone ringing too close to his ear. Groggily, he mumbled, "Hello?" into the receiver.

"Honey, did I wake you?"

"Yeah," he dredged up.

"I'm sorry." Joan's voice was compassionate at the other end.

"No, it's okay," he reassured her.

"What's wrong, Darlene said you went home sick?"

"Must have caught that bug of Karen's," he said by way of explanation.

"Oh no. Including the fever and vomiting and diarrhea?"

"The whole package, it seems," he sighed.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Want me to come home early?"

"No, I'll be fine. I'll just try to go back to sleep."

"Okay," she said softly. "Please call if you need me."

"I will," he replied. "Bye, Jane."

"See you later."

He felt another wave of nausea hit and stumbled back into the bathroom. Somehow a bucket would be good now, but he didn't have the energy to get it from downstairs. He'd ask Joan to find it later, he mused as he crawled back into bed, feeling miserable and severely sorry for himself.

* * *

Joan got home just after five, having left the office a little earlier than usual. She would be lying if she said she wasn't worried, so she had made it a point to quickly finish the urgent things on her to-do list and leave the rest for tomorrow.

Quietly, she went up the stairs and carefully entered the bedroom. She found him lying in bed, as she had suspected. He seemed to be asleep and she didn't want to wake him. Once had been enough, he needed his rest. She retreated to the kitchen and half-heartedly prepared some dinner. She knew she would eat alone tonight, but given the situation, she didn't mind. She just knew she couldn't cook anything with a strong scent because she remembered that when she was sick, the mere smell of food would make her nauseous.

She heard commotion upstairs a while later and went up there to check on Adam, who was obviously up. What greeted her were retching sounds from the bathroom and she lingered in front of the open door to the bathroom. Some things were private and should stay private and she didn't know just how much privacy he wanted right now.

But she couldn't stop herself from going in when after a moment's silence, she heard him saying, "Oh God, this sucks!"

He was still kneeling in front of the toilet, his hands on the seat, panting a little. She crouched down behind him, whispering, "That doesn't sound good."

He didn't seem to mind her being there. In fact, he seemed to be glad she was because he leaned back a little, his back making contact with her. Her hands softly came around him and he sagged into her bosom, looking for the comfort.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked softly.

"No," he said weakly. "Except maybe get me a bucket."

That would be an easy one. "Guess I don't need to ask if you want anything to eat or drink, huh?"

He shook his head. "Oh God, the thought of food disgusts me right now."

Just what she had thought. "You wanna go back to bed?" she gently urged him. She could feel him shivering beneath her hands.

"Yeah," he whispered.

She helped him up and went downstairs to get the bucket. She put some water in to cover the bottom, which would make it easier to rinse later. She placed it next to his side of the bed, taking in her beautiful but very pale fiancé with the covers drawn up to his chin. How she wished she could make him better, relieve him of some of the discomfort.

"Okay, here's your bucket. Can I do anything else? You want me to stay for a while?"

"No. I just wanna sleep. I wouldn't be very good company right now."

"Okay." She left him to rest since there wasn't much else she could do. She would check in on him later.

* * *

Joan switched off the TV when Grey's Anatomy ended. As usual, it left her craving for more, even though most of the original cast had already left the show and her favorite character had died last season. She missed discussing the events with Adam, who was still in bed. She had asked him if he wanted to come watch on the couch, but he had groggily declined. The poor sod, she felt for him but knew it would be better to just leave him be.

She debated doing the ironing, but she was pleasantly tired and relaxed, so she might just as well go to bed. An early night couldn't hurt for a change. She hadn't really thought about it, but maybe it would be a problem sleeping with Adam tonight. It might be inconvenient to both her and him in his current condition. When she went into the bedroom he was still sleeping, but when she opened a creaky dresser drawer to get her pajamas, he stirred and asked tiredly, "You coming to bed?"

She went over to his side. "I think it would be best if I slept in the guest room tonight," she said in a low voice. "For both of us. You okay with that?"

He mulled the thought over in his muddy brain for a moment. "Yeah, maybe. I'd probably keep you awake all night, running to the bathroom."

"Okay. I'll just get my things and then I'll let you sleep."

When she was done in the bathroom, she took her pillow and crouched down next to Adam beside the bed. "You need anything? You think you can try to drink something? You haven't had anything all day. You need to stay hydrated."

"Oh God, even thinking about it makes me wanna hurl."

"Okay, we'll try again tomorrow."

"Yeah," he muttered.

She reached over to feel his forehead. It felt quite warm. "Honey, I think you're running a fever."

"Might explain why I'm feeling so wobbly on my feet," he stated.

"Hang on," she said and went into the bathroom. She came back with a digital thermometer which she told him to stick it under his armpit. After a minute or two, it beeped, indicating that the temperature wasn't climbing anymore.

When he withdrew it, it showed 101.4. Joan frowned. "You do have a fever. We should try to get your temperature down. Maybe it would be smart to see a doc tomorrow. Could be an infection. _E. coli_ or something."

He sighed. "Jane. It's just the stomach flu. I'll be all right. I'll sleep it off in a couple of days."

"You couldn't take Tylenol right now with that stomach, so I think we should try something else. Will you let me rub you down with ice water?"

He didn't look too enthused by the idea. She felt his cheek again with the back of her hand. "Are you feeling hot? Or chilly?"

"Pretty hot," he said.

"Okay, then let's try the ice water. It might make you feel better."

He let out a breath through his nose, he didn't have the strength to resist. "Okay," he agreed.

Joan returned ten minutes later with a bowl of water with a few ice cubes in it, a washcloth and a towel. She drew back his covers and helped him out of his t-shirt. She told him to lie on his belly, which he did.

She dunked the washcloth in the cold water and wrung it out over the bowl. "Okay, this is gonna be cold," she warned him before she started to move the cloth over his naked back in soft strokes. When it became warm, she put it in the cold water again, repeating the process over his whole back and his legs. He just breathed in and out in regular intervals, but she couldn't really tell if it was giving him any discomfort. "Are you okay?" she asked after a while.

"Yeah," he said. "It actually feels kinda good."

She dabbed some of the moisture off his skin with the towel and said, "Can you turn around?"

He obliged and she started the washcloth rubbing over his chest. He first flinched a little at the cold, but his features looked relaxed enough to encourage her to go on. He had his eyes closed, and she thought he looked pretty pale and pretty pitiful.

When she was working on his legs, he suddenly opened his eyes and sat up, his face scrunched up in a pained expression. "Oh God," he mumbled before he bent over and retched into the bucket next to the bed.

Joan watched helplessly. What else could she do? She watched him ride it out and finally sink back onto the pillow, exhausted. He blinked twice. "Sorry."

She gave him a small, encouraging smile. "It's okay. It's not your fault. You don't have to apologize."

She handed him a glass with water to rinse his mouth, much like you had to do at the dentist's. When he was done, she took the bucket and discarded the contents. She mused briefly about how she wasn't grossed out by any of it. She loved him. Taking care of him when he was sick was just part of it.

Returning, she found him lying there on his back just as she had left him. When she saw the goose bumps all over his skin, she drew up the covers again and tucked him in, softly stroking his brow. She got the washcloth back out of the bowl and put it on his forehead. "You okay?"

He nodded gratefully. "Yeah."

"Do you feel any better at all?"

"I do. A little."

"I'll let you sleep now, okay? Get some rest, baby. Wake me if you need anything, all right?"

He nodded tiredly as she gave him a last affectionate stroke of his hair before she took up temporary residence in the guest room.

She didn't sleep too well, woke up more than once. She thought she heard him going to the bathroom a couple of times and the bed was both unfamiliar and dreadfully empty without him next to her.

The alarm she had set for work was too early and too loud and obnoxious, and she prayed that it had not awakened Adam.

She checked on him, also needing to get dressed. He was awake when she entered the bedroom. "Feeling any better?"

She took a cursory glance at the bucket, which was empty except for the water at the bottom. That was a good sign, but she figured there weren't anymore contents in his stomach by now anyway.

To answer her question, he said, "I don't know. Still not too great. I think I'm done puking. It's mostly diarrhea now."

She felt his forehead. "You don't feel that hot anymore. Think we got that fever down?"

"Yeah, I think it's gone."

"Should I call in sick for you?"

"No, I'll do it myself later, thanks."

She got the clothes she wanted and got ready in the bathroom. Half an hour later, she came back up to put a mug of chamomile tea on Adam's bedside table. "Please try to drink something if you can, okay?"

He gave her a brave smile. "Okay."

"Maybe take some Tylenol, to keep the fever away. I gotta go to work now. Call if you need anything. You want me to drop by on my lunch break?"

"Jane, I'm not a toddler. I can handle it."

She had to smile a little, backing up. "All right, all right. Get some more rest. I'll see you tonight. Feel better."

Joan called him on her lunch break, fully aware that she was mother-henning him. She also called her mom, sharing her concerns about Adam being at home all alone in his condition. Helen was immediately sympathetic. She offered to check in on him even before Joan could suggest it. Joan wasn't sure if he'd want that, but Helen wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Helen took two apples from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, after she had talked to Joan and listened to her telling her about Adam's illness. She put them in her bag and then got some chicken soup from the freezer—the "medicinal" kind with lots of garlic and ginger. She had to smile when she thought about how Will always said garlic could cure anything. The apples were for an old remedy her mom used to use on her. Grated apple was supposed to help with binding the fluids in the bowels when you had diarrhea. Plus it was very easy on the stomach.

She picked up the phone again. Adam's tired voice greeted her on the other end after a couple of rings.

"Adam, it's Helen. Joan called me and told me about you... How are you holding up?"

There was a short pause. "Okay, I guess," he said tiredly.

"Are you still running a fever?"

"I don't know," he said. "Comes and goes."

"Listen, I can come over in a while, would that be okay?"

He had to smile despite the shiver that washed over him. The Girardis were a tenacious bunch and he thought it was sweet of Joan to worry so much that she'd send her mother over to take care of him. "It's not like I'm dying or anything, but, yes, I'd like that. I mean..." he paused, "aside from the fact that I'm not exactly presentable."

"Oh Adam, I know that. You're sick, don't worry about it. I raised three kids. I've seen it all."

He nodded, even though Helen could not see it. "Right."

"Is there anything you need? Anything I can bring?"

"No, I think I've got pretty much all I need right now, thanks," he told her.

"Okay. I'll come by when I'm done here. I'll let myself in with the key, if that's okay with you. That way you don't have to get up."

"Great, thanks," he agreed.

* * *

Joan finally went home after a long and stressful day. She had wanted nothing more than to go home early and take care of Adam, but she was working on an important project with a hardcore deadline, so she really had no choice but to stay until it was done. And it was now already past 8 PM.

She entered the house and found him in a bundle of blankets on the couch, watching TV.

"Hey, my poor little sick puppy," she chirped. "I'm really sorry I'm so late. I tried to get out as early as I could. But they dumped a shitload of stuff on me every time I tried to sneak out."

He looked at her as she approached him. "Don't worry, it's okay. I've been sleeping pretty much all day anyway."

She went around the couch to sit down where his legs were. "How are you feeling?"

"I've felt better. But I can say with conviction that things are improving."

She nodded and looked at the TV screen. "Watch anything good?"

"I think I saw the rerun of last night's Grey's Anatomy earlier, but I can't say I remember much of it."

She feigned shock. "Come on, you must remember how Perry and Darnell got into that catfight. That was hilarious!"

"Oh, that," he said. "Yeah, that was pretty funny," he said without a lot of enthusiasm.

"Did you manage to eat or drink anything?"

"I tried keeping down that mug of tea, with limited success. I had some of the Gatorade that your mom brought earlier, that stayed down. For now."

She sighed. She wished she knew how to make him feel better, take away some of his discomfort. "Should you go see a doctor about this?"

He shook his head. "No, I already feel better than yesterday. Except now I've got this killer headache. But I'll be fine in a day or two."

She felt his forehead again. It was still a little hotter than she'd like. "You're still running a temperature, aren't you?"

"I might be. I'm a little sweaty." He smiled. "Sorry I'm so gross to be around."

She smiled at that. "Did you take the Tylenol."

"No, I totally forgot about that."

"Think you could? Maybe with a little more Gatorade?"

He sighed. "What's with the Girardi women and the fussing?"

"That's not just the Girardis, Adam. It's women in general."

"I can't see Grace doing it."

Now Joan laughed openly. "Well, you weren't there when Karen was sick, so how do you know she wasn't playing nursemaid too, just like me?"

He shrugged.

She laughed and got up to get the medicine and a glass of Gatorade. She sat back down at Adam's legs, handing both to him. "Here, try that."

She unscrewed the bottle and handed him two pills. He popped them into his mouth and washed them down with a swig of Gatorade. At that moment, the phone rang and Joan went to pick it up in the kitchen, where she found the cordless phone. "Hello?"

"Joan?" Karen's voice sounded somehow off. "Can I talk to Adam?"

"Well, to be honest, he's pretty out of it. I think he may have caught your stomach flu."

"Oh," Karen just said.

"Is there anything wrong? Anything I can help with?" Joan offered.

Karen sighed. "I... don't know. It's about Grace. Things got pretty messy."

Messy? What was she saying? "What do you mean, messy?"

"Well, we're in the hospital right now."

"Karen, stop making me drag every fragment of information out of you. What happened?"

"It's kind of a long story, but Grace... she ended up in a fight. Well, a brawl, more like." She paused briefly, then sighed again. "I was hoping to talk to Adam, because... well, I really don't know what to say anymore. It's like we've hit a dead end—" She stopped.

"Are you guys hurt?"

"I'm fine. Grace might have to get stitches."

"Stitches? What hospital are you at?"

"We're at Angel of Mercy, somewhere in the ER."

"I'm on my way."

"Okay," Karen said meekly.

"I can hand the phone to Adam if you wanna talk to him."

"He's not sleeping, is he?"

"No, he's awake."

"I don't know," Karen said carefully. "I don't wanna scare him if he's sick."

"I think he'd want to know about this. Hang on a sec." Joan went into the living room with the phone still to her ear. "I'll hand you over now. See you in a few."

She held the phone out to Adam, who had his eyes closed. He looked like he was dozing. "Honey?" she addressed him. He looked up at her. "It's Karen. Something happened with Grace, maybe you can talk to her. I'm gonna go see them up at the hospital."

Adam suddenly looked wide awake. "What? Hospital?" He took the phone from Joan and held it to his ear. "Karen? What happened?"

Joan went to put on some shoes and a jacket, then came back into the living room, finding Adam already off the phone and getting off the couch. "I'll come with you," he told her.

"Adam, you're in no condition to go out," she reminded him.

He got up from the couch, and realized that Joan was right. A stabbing pain when through his head and he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. "I need to see her, Jane," he tried again.

"Okay, here's what we'll do. I'll go see about them and we'll come back here, so you can talk to her. How about that?"

He reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, all right."

She gave him a last reassuring look before she grabbed her car keys and left.

* * *

Joan found Karen sitting in the ER waiting room. Karen's gaze on her spoke of gratefulness and relief. "Joan. Thank God you're here."

Joan sat down next to her. "Are you okay? Where's Grace?"

"I'm fine. Grace is getting stitches. They said they'd let me know when she's done."

Joan's face took on a frown. "What exactly happened?"

"We went out for dinner, but we had to wait for a table at the bar. And the guy next to Grace was already raving drunk. He tried to buy her a drink, which she of course declined, but he just wouldn't back off. So Grace tells him flat-out that she's not interested. That really puts him off, he starts to grab Grace's arm. Grace just turned around and slapped him in the face. So he shoves her really hard. Next thing I know Grace is on the floor with a cut on her head, bleeding all over the place."

"Whoa," Joan said.

"Yeah, but it doesn't stop there. Grace was so angry, she got up and went after him again. I grabbed her and one of the waiters helped me hold her in check. I shudder to think what she would've done if we hadn't stopped her. I wanted to call the police and press charges against the guy, but she wouldn't let me. The restaurant called an ambulance and we ended up here."

"Jesus, that's..." Joan stopped. "I don't know what to say. Grace hit the guy? In the face?"

"Yeah. Totally unbelievable, right?"

"Yeah. Gutsy, though."

"Please, don't say that in front of her. Don't encourage this kind of behavior," Karen said, failing to mask the disappointment in her voice.

"No," Joan said immediately. "No, of course I won't."

Karen looked down at her lap, her voice quiet and heavy. "Joan, I don't know what to do with her anymore. That's why I wanted to talk to Adam. He knows her better than anyone. I'm sure it has to do with her mom. They're talking on the phone a lot, and there's a lot of yelling. It's really getting to her."

Joan sighed. "Yeah," she said simply, meaningful words failing her. After a moment's silence, she told Karen, "Adam's waiting at home, he wants to talk to her. I'll take you to the restaurant to get your car, but you think we can go by our place for a few minutes?"

"Sure. Maybe he can talk some sense into her. She's really scaring me." Then she remembered about Adam's condition. "Did I really give him my stomach bug? God, I'm sorry about that."

"Hey, not your fault."

"Is he doing all right?"

"All right would be a little optimistic at this point, but he's gonna be okay in a day or two. He wanted to come with me, but he could barely stand up."

"You sure we should take Grace to see him?"

"Yeah," Joan answered. "Stomach flu or not, he wants to talk to her."

"Okay," Karen agreed. "Okay," she repeated, more quietly.

A few silent minutes passed before the door to the waiting room opened and Grace walked in. Joan's eyes immediately went to the wound on her forehead and the white butterfly bandages that covered some of it. Was it Joan's impression, or did Grace look disapproving of her being here?

"Girardi, what the hell are you doing here?"

Ah, so it wasn't just her impression. Karen cut in, "I called her."

Grace shot her an angry look. "Why?"

Karen looked like she might be on the verge of tears, but anger was creeping into her voice as she spoke. "Because she's a friend? Because I wanted the company? Because I was scared?" Her raised arms fell to her sides.

Grace was taken aback. "Okay," she said. "Can we go?"

"I'll take you to your car," Joan said. "But can we stop by my place?"

Karen's eyes were pleading on Grace, who sarcastically said, "What, so you can sic Rove on me? Where is he anyway?"

Joan had to breathe in to keep her patience. In a neutral voice she said, "He's home with the stomach flu. He wanted to come, but he's too sick."

Grace was all sarcasm now. "Poor baby. Why are you wasting your time with me then?" She looked at Joan. "Shouldn't you be home, nursing him?"

Karen's voice was sharp. "Grace, that's enough."

"Yeah, whatever," she shrugged, clamming up as they left the hospital.

The ride to Adam and Joan's house was tense and taciturn. Joan hoped that Adam would be able to talk to her, but Grace's anger made her doubt that even he would have much success.

Joan was the first to enter their house, Grace and Karen followed. Adam was still on the couch, but he had thrown on a pair of jeans and a long sleeved tee. For an awkward moment, Joan, Karen and Grace just stood wordlessly. Joan finally said, looking at Adam and Grace, "I think you two—"

Grace interrupted her. "So, this is it, the Inquisition Of Grace, huh?"

Adam only looked at her, then gave Joan a silent sign to leave him alone with Grace.

Joan understood and signaled for Karen to follow her to the kitchen. Grace just stood there, glowering.

"Grace, how the hell did this happen?" Adam asked without preamble.

She said nothing, only stared at her hands that were folded in front of her.

"Talk to me," he demanded, softly but determinedly. He was way too rattled to have that kind of patience with her today.

"What do you need to know?" she said defensively. "The dude was sloppy drunk and he started insulting me. I couldn't just let him, so I didn't. He put his hands on me and somehow..." She indicated the wound above her eyebrow.

"Grace, this is crazy, you could've been really hurt. Why didn't you just tell somebody? They could've kicked the guy out before things got out of control."

She shot him a look. "He pissed me off! What kind of an asshole grabs a strange woman in a public place?"

"The dangerous kind," he sighed. It didn't do any good to put her on the defensive, that would not get them anywhere. "Okay," he gently said. "Why don't you tell me what happened? From the beginning."

She finally moved to sit next to him on the couch. "First of all, I didn't start it, okay? That lush came on to me, got pushy. I told him to back off and he wouldn't. Then he started grabbing at me and I just lost it. But I swear, Rove, I was only defending myself."

"Semantics, Grace."

"Maybe. But you weren't there. If he'd done that to Joan, you would've beaten the crap out of him."

"Let's stay on point here," he said sternly. "Is this about your mother?"

She fell silent again, and Adam knew he had hit a sore spot. Maybe _the_ sore spot. He waited, hoping she would come forward.

After maybe a minute that seemed endless, Grace said very quietly, "She keeps calling. It's like every time she's drunk, she picks up the phone and calls me. Keeps yammering on about how she's gonna clean herself up, how this was the last time. How she loves me and how she's sorry. She keeps badmouthing Dad, but he's doing the best he can, under the circumstances. She keeps talking about everything that's wrong in her life and everything she's gonna do to fix it. But, you see, she never does fix it." She gave him a desperate look, then repeated in a whisper, "She never does."

"Maybe she doesn't know how," he offered.

"Yeah, so what am I supposed to do? Rove, she calls me five or six time a week, sometimes more than once a day. I've tried to talk to her, tried to get her to stop, get her into rehab. You remember how it was the last time, when we had to force her." She sniffled her nose once. "I don't think I can go through that again."

"Grace—" he started, then frowned as a shooting cramp hit his bowels. He drew in a sharp breath, which caught Grace's attention.

She made a move to get up. "Dude, you're all sick, I shouldn't be dumping this shit on you right now."

"No," he interjected, "please stay. I'm fine."

She gave him a look. "Oh, you so are not. But," she waved dismissively. "... whatever."

Adam tried to shake his head of the fog that seemed to still surround it. It was way too hard to form coherent thoughts, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't continue try. "Look, Grace... I'm not the authority on how to deal with this. But you can't go around getting in bar fights with strangers. Don't you think it's time you did something?"

"Like what?"

Yeah, what? He didn't know. Professional help? How exactly would they convince Grace's mom to seek professional help if she wasn't being rational about it? As if they hadn't already tried that. "Let me ask you this. Have you and your dad tried to sit her down together and talk to her about this? When she's sober? Have you told her that you're scared? Is she aware how much her actions affect all of you?"

She didn't look at him and took a moment to answer his question. "I've tried to talk to her. She's just... she's totally different when she's sober. It's like she's another person."

Yeah, he knew what she was talking about. When his own mother had her violent mood swings, she would be a completely different person from day to day. And he remembered how much that scared him.

"She needs to hear it, Grace. From both of you. She needs to understand that she's not just killing herself, she's destroying your lives too." When he saw the flash of fear in Grace's eyes, just before she tried to blank it out and shut down on him, he went on, "I know. I know it's scary to think about that. I know that's the last thing you wanna do. But it's true, and you have to face it."

He knew Grace wasn't exactly a touchy-feely person, but he lightly touched her arm to underline what he was offering next. "I'll be there with you if you want me to."

She looked at him with those intense blue eyes that were now filled with tears. She could only whisper, and it was a Grace that he rarely saw or heard that was talking now. "It might just be the hardest thing I've ever done."

He nodded, then asked, "What about Karen? Are you two okay? You know, she'll be there with you if you let her."

Grace wiped at the one tear that was sliding down her cheek. "Yeah, I know. And I don't know why I can't accept that. I can't explain it."

"What are you so afraid of?"

"I don't know. What were you afraid of when you found that letter and couldn't tell Girardi?"

Oh God, yes. What had he been afraid of? It seemed so irrational right now, looking back at it.

"Touché. Look, I know it's easy for me to say, but you gotta let her in. She can help you. Like Joan helped me. You don't have to be alone with this."

She just nodded.

Quietly, he added, "Didn't we already cover this? Out by the sewers?"

"Yeah." Her voice was more composed now.

"So why hasn't it sunk into that thick skull of yours yet?"

She only shrugged.

"Just remember the sewers then next time the shit hits the fan, okay?"

"The sewers, I got it."

"Good."

There was a short, uncomfortable silence before Grace said, "I should let you get some rest. A corpse would look more alive than you."

He smiled slightly. "Thanks a lot."

She got up and lifted her hands defensively. "What? Merely speaking the truth here."

He sighed. "Yeah, well, can't say I feel much more alive than a corpse."

"I'll go get your fiancé in here to mother-hen you. She's gifted at that, you know?"

He chuckled. "Dude, you have no idea."

"You love every minute of it," she teased him.

"Maybe. A little."

"Don't exploit her," she threatened mockingly.

"I promise."

She turned around. "Thanks."

He gave her a warm smile. "You're welcome. Let me know if you need me when you're ready. I'll be there."

She nodded and Adam watched her go into the kitchen, where Joan and Karen were hiding out.

He was sure they were okay, that Karen was in good hands with Joan. They were very much alike and he was sure Joan would have said all the right things to try and reassure Karen. He only wondered if she was beyond being reassured by now and stuck in worry mode.

He breathed out a long breath, then got up to let Joan know he was gonna go back to bed. He still felt weak and holding himself together to face Grace had drained the very last of his energy.

* * *

Joan dressed in her pajamas and crawled into bed beside him a couple of hours later. His eyes were closed but he opened them groggily when he felt movement beside him. After the events of the day, having dropped Karen and Grace off at their car, Joan felt exhausted and drained. She imagined he wasn't feeling much better.

"You all right?" she carefully asked.

"I don't know," he mumbled, glancing over at her as she settled into bed. "I'm pretty rattled."

There was a long pause before Joan said, "Yeah, me too."

"I mean, Grace was always outspoken, brazen, maybe even aggressive. But she was never a fighter. I just don't wanna believe it."

"Did she tell you what happened?" Joan asked.

"Not in detail, no. She told me _why_ it happened, though."

She could already make an educated guess where this was going. "It's about her mom, right?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "She keeps bugging Grace when she's drunk, calling her on the phone, saying all these things. I can't believe how much of this shit she has to take. Can you imagine having to listen to your drunk mother on the phone every day? I mean, it's no excuse to get violent, but I can kinda see why she finally just snapped. No matter how tough she talks, she's just as human as the rest of us."

"I wish I could help her," Joan said. "I just don't know how. I mean, I've tried. I've given her the AA leaflets, I've offered to talk to Lydia about finding her a group, I even said I'd look into treatment programs for her mom. But she says she's handling it."

"Well, she _is_ Grace, after all. I... I suggested something that might work if she'll do it. At least it's worth a shot." He then told her what he said to Grace, about her and her father sitting down for an honest talk with Sarah when she was sober. And that he offered to be there for it.

"You think she'll do it?"

"I hope so."

"Me too," she said in reply. "Maybe it'll help." There was silence for a long moment before she turned her head sideways, so she could look at Adam. He still looked so pale, so exhausted. "You know, life's really not fair sometimes."

Yeah, he knew all about that, but he didn't know what to say.

Gently, she asked, "Are you okay with me sleeping here tonight?"

He turned his head to face her too, opening his eyes. "Yes, please do. I missed you."

"Me too, baby," she very softly kissed his forehead. "You feeling any better at all?"

"A little. The Tylenol helped." he said. And just as if on cue, another stabbing cramp hit and he closed his eyes tight, held his breath and clenched his jaw for a few seconds until it passed and then released his breath.

It didn't go unnoticed by Joan. "Hey," she said, lightly touching the skin of his cheek with the back of her hand. "I think I know what you need right now."

"Oh yeah?" he said weakly.

"Yeah," she answered, getting out of bed again.

She came back five minutes later from downstairs with her hot water bottle in her hand. She drew back Adam's covers and placed it lightly on his stomach. "Here, that should help a little."

The weight on his fairly empty stomach wasn't all that pleasant, but as soon as he felt the warmth spreading through the fleece cover to his skin, he relaxed. It did indeed feel quite good.

"You want anything else? Some tea, toast? Water?"

He shook his head. "No. Just your company."

She was glad to hear that. She climbed back into bed. When he looked at her, she knew he wouldn't mind physical contact, so she scooted closer and lay next to him so that his head was resting on her collarbone. "Maybe tomorrow things will look up," she offered.

"I might even try to eat something. My stomach feels like a meteor crater filled with acid."

"I'll make you anything you want tomorrow, I promise."

He smiled a little. "Nice incentive."

She toyed lightly with the skin on his arm, letting her finger slide up and down very softly, feeling the fine, dark hairs there. She realized his skin was forming into goose bumps suddenly, and he shivered a little. She drew the blankets a little closer around him and enveloped him with her other arm. "Are you cold?"

He didn't answer with words, but he definitely snuggled closer. "Let's see if we can catch some sleep now. It's been a helluva day."

"Yeah," he mumbled, "that it has."

She gave him a tender kiss on his warm lips and made herself comfortable, holding him to her protectively, possessively.

* * *

At first she wasn't sure what had pulled her from her slumber, but after a muddy second, she realized that it must have been Adam moving and moaning next to her in bed. He was muttering unintelligible words and it sounded as if he was somehow in distress. Her concern grew when she watched him in the barely present light for a few unsure seconds.

He jerked away from her and released a desperate sounding, "No!" suddenly, and Joan knew she had to wake him from whatever nightmare had him in its grasp.

"Adam," she said softly. "Adam, honey, wake up."

When he didn't, she touched his arm, repeating her words. She finally got through to him and he startled and opened his eyes very suddenly. There was panic in them for a split second, even though Joan couldn't see it in the dark.

In a very soothing tone, Joan said, "Relax, baby, it was just a dream."

He sank back into his pillow, whispering, "Oh God."

She turned around to face him. "Bad dream?"

He nodded. "Yeah, you could say that. Did I wake you?"

She looked at him lovingly. "Yeah, you were kinda flailing around, muttering something."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, you couldn't help it. Wanna tell me what it was about?"

He breathed out through his nose, long and heavy. "Actually, I'd rather forget about it as soon as I can. It was about my mom and my dad and... let's just say there were some pretty ugly things in it."

Her heart reached out to him. Sure he was coping better and better every year with the tragedies in his past, but some demons would never completely leave him be.

She reached over and took his hand where it lay on the blanket, draped over his belly. She intertwined her fingers with his. "It wasn't real, it was just a dream."

"I know," he said.

"You think you can go back to sleep?"

"Probably. I just hope I don't end up in the same dream again."

"Try to think about something positive before you drift off. That always helps me."

He smiled a little. "I only need to think of you in that case."

She smiled back at him, her voice becoming sleepier. "Whatever works for you. See you in a few hours," she mumbled, closing her eyes.

"Or in my dreams," he added in a deep, soft voice. How could he go back to that horrible nightmare if his beautiful Jane was lying next to him, all loving and caring. He turned to lie on his sleeping side, feeling hopeful that only good dreams would come to him for the rest of the morning.

* * *

The sound of raindrops beating against the window was the first thing Joan heard when she awoke on this Saturday morning. She was surprised that the alarm clock on her nightstand said 8:28, it looked like it was 6 AM, judging from the gloomy light. She quietly got out of bed so Adam could sleep a little longer. She grabbed a woolen sweater on her way out, shivering a little from the cold air.

She hoped Adam would feel a little better after a good night's sleep, maybe he could try to eat something. She had no idea what he might like to eat after all this. She tried to think back to what she ate when she recovered from her last illness. Maybe lightly buttered toast would be a good thing to try. If that worked, she'd make him some hard boiled eggs. She made herself a mug of coffee and had a bagel with jam because she didn't know how long he would be sleeping.

It was three quarters of an hour later when she heard movement upstairs. Before long, he ambled into the kitchen with his checkered robe on. He was still peaked-looking and very disheveled, but she was glad to see him up on his feet. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah. I mean, I actually feel something like a human being again."

"Anymore bad dreams?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. At least not that I can remember."

"You hungry at all?"

He sat down at the kitchen table. "I think I could eat something. Or try, at least."

She was certainly glad to hear that. She put on the electric kettle, turning toward him. "What's it gonna be, peppermint, chamomile or fennel tea?"

He frowned at all three choices. "Coffee would be nice."

"On an empty, battered stomach? Nuh-uh, mister."

He sighed. "All right. Peppermint then."

She gave him a smile. "That's my boy. How would you feel about buttered toast?"

"Sounds good. I might actually manage to keep that down."

"If you do, I'll make you anything you want later."

He smiled at her questioningly. "Anything?"

She smiled back. "Anything."

"Sounds tempting." He drew his hand through his hair. "I think I'll take a quick shower."

She nodded. "Okay. Your toast will be ready when you get back."

"Thanks."

He came back a while later, dressed in a pair of gray sweat pants and a distressed navy t-shirt. Joan pushed down the toaster lever, so his toast would be fresh and warm. She put some butter and a plate and a knife on the table where he already sat.

She smiled a little as she started up the microwave. The toast was ready just then and she put the two slices on his plate. As he buttered them, she got the mug out of the microwave, stirred it with a teaspoon and placed it next to his plate.

He looked at it, this definitely wasn't peppermint tea. He sniffed it; it was a brown, milky liquid that smelled faintly of malt. "What's this?"

"Ovaltine. It's good for you. Lots of vitamins and minerals, just what you need to help you recover. It may not be coffee, but I thought you might enjoy it more than tea."

He took a careful sip, then raised his eyebrows. "It's not so bad."

"It's that or more tea."

He took another sip. "No more herbal tea. Please."

She laughed. "Okay. But you need to get re-hydrated. There's more Gatorade in the fridge for later. Promise me you'll drink some."

"I will."

"Good. I gotta run over to mom's real quick to pick up the slacks she shortened for me. I'll be back in half an hour."

"Okay," he acknowledged and Joan went to put on a pair of shoes and a jacket.

In the front garden, she found a surprise visitor in the form of a dog who was sniffing around the rock garden. She carefully approached him, saying, "Hey buddy, where'd you come from?"

A moment later, she heard the commotion of more dogs heading her way. She raised her head to see a familiar bearded old man surrounded by a pack of dogs.

"Hey, Hercules, there you are!" the man said, addressing the dog as he walked right into the front yard without timidity. "Sorry, Joan. He got away, the sneaky beggar."

"Shouldn't you be more adept at shepherding your flock?" she snarked.

"All living things have a will of their own," He said, completely unoffended.

She gave Him a look. "Why do I have the feeling you're not only here to recapture one of your dogs?"

"You're out of Pepto-Bismol. You should run by the pharmacy and pick some up."

"God's concerned about the contents of my medicine cabinet?" Joan frowned, although it did kinda make sense. Adam probably used up whatever they had in the house. "Adam's getting better," she said. "Isn't he?" Maybe not, if God was here to tell her he needed more Pepto.

"Lots. But you should still get the medicine."

She puzzled for second over why it would be so important if Adam didn't need it anymore. But she knew by now that it was best to just go along with whatever He was suggesting. "Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "And then what?"

"Just pay attention when you leave."

Ah, so there was something at the pharmacy He wanted her to see. And she knew that was all she was gonna get out of Him.

"All right. I'll keep my eyes open."

He smiled at her, following His dogs' cue to go back out in the street. "That's all I'm asking." He waved a little wave at her as much the dogs jerked him on down the street.

She shook her head. This could turn out to be any number of things. From something really small and easy to something really big and difficult. But she had learned not to let the uncertainty bug her anymore. So she made it a point to do as He said and figured she could try to decipher what exactly He had in mind for her later.

Inside the house, Adam noticed movement in their front yard. He stepped closer to the window, watching Joan speaking to a man with what looked like five or six dogs surrounding him. He briefly frowned, he knew he had seen the man before.

Then it dawned on him. Of course, this must be... God. In the form of the old dog walker that he remembered from Joan's neighborhood all those years ago. Another assignment for Joan? He would have to ask her about that later, hoping it wouldn't be anything too demanding. He was surely prepared to help in any way he could.

* * *

_**June 5, 2004**_

_I'm so confused. I just don't know what's real anymore and what isn't. I mean, could God really walk around and talk to people? Talk to me? That's just too crazy to ever believe. Could it be that I've been hallucinating all of this, this whole past year? The more I think about it, the more confused I get._

_Dr. Dan told me to write letters, to keep a journal. Guess that's what I'm doing. I wish I could talk to people instead of writing letters. It all seems so far away now, especially Adam. I mean, how could I ever expect him to believe me? And then again, why did it hurt so much when he didn't? And what am I gonna write to him? "Hi Adam, it's okay that you didn't believe me, because all this time I had these massive hallucinations and I don't know what I was thinking when I told you." So I talk about the weather and the girls at camp and our oh-so great therapeutic game sessions. I think it's about all I can handle right now._

Adam stared at that last paragraph, letting the journal sink into his lap. He hadn't thought about that summer in a long time. The summer when Joan was away at camp and he had read all those books about people to whom God appeared in one way or another. He remembered that he felt just as far away from Joan as she must have felt form him. And suddenly he wished he would have known back then what she had been going through. Maybe that would have made a difference. Maybe—

"Hey, can you lend me a hand?" he suddenly heard Joan's voice from the door.

He put the journal on the table, got up from the couch and went to the front door, where she handed him an armful of plastic bags with groceries. "Can you take these to the kitchen?" she demanded more than asked and went back outside to the car.

He put the bags on the counter and started unpacking them, sorting things into the fridge and cupboards. Joan came in a minute later with another few plastic bags. She smiled. "Okay, we're fully stocked for the weekend, I should think. I really feel like having a long and languid breakfast tomorrow, scrambled eggs and everything. How does that sound?"

He forced a smile, despite what was still on his mind. "Sounds great."

"Okay, then it's settled. Oh," she said as she put some things in fridge herself, "I even bought prawns for the scrambled eggs. God, I haven't had that in a while. My mouth is already watering."

When Adam didn't say anything, she turned to face him, hesitating for a second to read his face. He must've gone quiet for a reason. For a second she had a fleeting notion that this might be another one of those times where he was hiding out, where he would just bottle everything up inside and not talk. "Adam," she softly said, "Is anything wrong?"

He lifted his eyelids, looking at her, pressing his lips together. A few silent seconds passed before he spoke. "I was looking through some stuff in the living room closet, and... I found your journal."

She frowned. "My journal? I don't keep a journal." She had always considered keeping a diary a waste of time.

"The one from camp," he quietly explained.

It dawned on Joan and she let out a chortle. "Crazy Camp? My God, that's, like, a million years ago. Seriously, you know I wasn't thinking straight that summer. I'm sure it's all just messed up crazy talk."

His eyes took on that soulful expression, the one where they grew dark and seemed to be filled with a myriad of emotions that you thought would choke you if had to experience them. He focused all his attention on her and it almost made her shiver. Just above a whisper, he said, "No, not so crazy."

She realized that there was something more meaningful here, something they needed to talk about. She put the head of lettuce she was holding back down on the counter and turned to face him. "What do you mean?"

"I... didn't know what a big deal this was for you back then. What it meant to you. I'm... I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

Joan looked confused again. "You mean in the hospital? Adam, how could you believe me? I had Lyme Disease, they said I was hallucinating. How could I ever expect you to believe me?" she said in a very sober voice.

He chuckled sarcastically. "Funny. That's exactly what you said in your journal. And then you said it still hurt that I didn't believe you."

She suddenly had to swallow, growing more serious. "Yeah, I guess it did. But, you know, looking back on it now, there is really no way I can blame you for not believing. You believe me now, don't you?"

He nodded. "Of course I do. After what He did for Jamal. And just this morning, I saw you talking to the dog walker in the front yard this morning. That was Him, wasn't it?"

She nodded as well. "Yep, it most definitely was."

"So, what did He say?"

"He gave me a new assignment."

He looked curious now. "Really? What does He want you to do?"

"Oh, you know, of course it was cryptic, as usual. But I understood when I saw it. Hang on," she told him, getting her purse and extracting a leaflet from it. She handed it to Adam.

He took it and studied it for a moment. "Taltroxarone?" He read on, realizing what it was about. "This is about Grace's mom."

"Exactly," she agreed. "Has to be, right?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding a little in awe. His eyes were on her again. "So now what?"

"Guess we'll have to talk to Grace about this, see what she says."

"Sounds like a plan," he said.

"We could invite her and Karen over, I'll give them a call, see if they're game."

Adam nodded. "Okay, sure."

"Or would you rather go out?"

He touched his stomach. "Nah, I think I better stick to lighter food right now."

"Okay, then it's settled. I'll give them a call in a minute."

Two hours later, the band of four was grouped around the kitchen table, having dinner.

"Second time I'm here in as many days. This has to be a record," Grace snarked.

Joan grinned. "See how much we love your company?"

"Yeah, right," Grace said disbelievingly.

They had a pleasant dinner and Joan was glad to see Adam smiling and joking, even though he still wasn't back to his old self yet. She was also relieved to see that Grace had loosened up a bit since the day before. One still couldn't help noticing that nasty cut that reminded them all of the shock of the bar incident.

When they were finished with dinner, Joan waited for a break in the conversation to bring up the reason why they invited the girls over. "Uhm, Grace?" she carefully interjected.

Grace focused her attention on Joan. "What?" she asked.

"Actually, we invited you over for a reason."

Grace looked slightly surprised, so Joan tried to reassure her. "No, it's not like that."

"Like what?"

Joan just ignored the question and got the leaflet she had shown Adam earlier. "I just think you should look into this."

Grace took it and studied it for a few silent minutes, Karen looking over her shoulder. At first Grace looked confused, but the more she read, the more she understood. When she was finished reading, she handed it to Karen, who hadn't fully read it.

Grace's met Joan's eyes, but her expression was unreadable. Joan couldn't stand the tension any longer. "So?" she asked.

"I don't know," Grace signed. "It sounds good on paper... I mean, it's not like I know a lot about how this clinical trial stuff works."

"Well, let me shed some light on that," Adam cut in. "I know a guy who works in clinical research and I hit the web earlier to read up. This new drug, Taltroxarone, is supposed to help with alcohol withdrawal symptoms. Something about neurotransmitters in the brain. Patients are admitted to a sort of trial clinic for about a month. They're being monitored and there's a fixed schedule of tests and examinations they're gonna do. Of course there's, like, inclusion and exclusion criteria, so your mom would have to be tested to see if she's eligible. But from what I read online, it all seems to fit. I mean, as far as my knowledge about your mother extends."

Grace looked at the leaflet again. "But if I understood this right, she might also receive the placebo, right?"

"Yeah, it's placebo-controlled. But it might not be a 50:50 ratio, you know. Sometimes more people get the active drug than those who get placebo."

Karen looked almost in awe. "Wow, you sure know a lot about this."

Adam shrugged. "Well, Sam was thrilled to tell me all about it when I called him. And there's a lot about the trial on the internet. I can give you the URL if you wanna check it out for yourself. There's this whole online trial database. Anyway, even if she gets placebo, she's still getting detoxed and they'll be monitoring her closely. It's more or less as good as rehab, isn't it?"

Grace nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But..." she hesitated. "This all sounds great in theory, but how do we get Sarah to agree to it?"

Joan said, "You don't think she would be open to it? I mean, it's something that would make getting sober easier, right?"

Grace hesitated. "I... honestly don't know. I don't know much about anything anymore."

Karen touched her arm, which got her attention. "Let's talk to your father about it. I'm sure if we do this right, Sarah can be persuaded. I think she knows she's on a one-way street, running in the wrong direction. This might just turn her around."

Grace's look at Karen was grateful. "Yeah," she whispered, trying to muster the same kind of confidence.

Karen smiled. "Okay, then we know what we'll do. You guys, thanks so much for this."

Adam indicated his fiancé. "Oh, Joan found the flier, you gotta thank her." He knew full well that it wasn't Joan who deserved the ultimate credit, but it would have to do for his friends.

Grace's voice was surprisingly honest and soft when she said, "Thanks, Joan."

Joan gave her a reassuring smile. "Any time. I hope it works out."

"Me too," Grace said and pocketed the leaflet. "We should go, it's getting late."

Karen agreed. "Yeah, we should leave Adam alone to properly recuperate."

"Oh, no," he cut in, "I'm doing much better."

"Still," Grace said and got up. Joan and Adam both saw Karen and Grace to the door. When their two best friends had left, they got ready for bed. She had kind of enjoyed having to slow down because of Adam's illness. It was certainly a plus to get an early night every now and feel properly rested the next day.

But after more than a week, she had a moment where she longed for physical intimacy, but she pushed the thought away quickly. Surely, it was the last thing on Adam's mind right now. Maybe tomorrow morning, maybe tomorrow night. Whenever. She would be ready whenever he was. For now she would just look forward to that long, lazy breakfast with him the next morning. In bed. Yeah, she would try out those trays she had bought especially for such a purpose. It sounded like heaven.

* * *


	31. The Way We Are

_**Chapter 24**_  
**The Way We Are**

_by Laura_

* * *

_**Laura's Author's Note:**  
Deb and TeeJay needed a quick transition chapter, so they held a contest on their website to write it. I did, and here we are._

_**TeeJay's Author's Note:**  
I'd like to extend a huge thank you to Laura for helping out. This has been fun and we wouldn't have come up with this chapter as quickly without your help. It was certainly great to have a guest writer along for the ride._

_**Deb's Author's Note:**  
They've both already said everything pretty much. Except I would also like to thank Laura for breathing new life into the Butterflies universe. _

_**Synopsis:**  
Adam and Joan struggle to agree on details for their upcoming wedding. With Valentine's Day on the horizon, they decide to go away for the weekend with Karen and Grace._

_**Rating: PG-13 **__for adult themes._

_**Disclaimer:**  
I don't own Joan of Arcadia... I don't even own this story!_

* * *

Adam sat at the computer in the guest room, now asleep, his head on his hand which was supported by his elbow propped next to the monitor. Joan walked in and looked at the screen, it was an semi-completed ad layout for toothpaste. There was a stack of other untouched designs next to him on the desk.

He'd started working partially from home since there was so much to do for the wedding. She slowly walked to him, first touching his shoulders lightly, then wrapping her arms around him from behind. He groaned softly and lifted his head slightly.

"Baby, why don't you take a break?" Joan asked. She kissed his neck gently. "You're falling asleep here and you're not getting anything done anyway. Come downstairs, I want show you something."

"OK," he mumbled. "Just give me a second."

She nodded and kissed his cheek before leaving the room and going downstairs. A moment later Adam wandered down the stairs, still half asleep, but when he saw the coffee table and parts of the couch filled with of dozens of bridal books he woke up.

He looked around, wondering if he had entered the wrong living room. "What's going on?" he finally asked when he spotted Joan and Helen riffling through some books.

"Hey," Joan said as she looked over the couch at him. She quickly snapped the book full of dresses shut on her mother's hand.

"Ouch!" Helen exclaimed.

"Sorry. Here, look at this tux." She held another book open for him as he approached them.

He sat on the couch next to her and took the book. "Jane, this has a bow tie."

"So?"

"So, I'd really rather not wear a bow tie. I mean, I wore one at Aunt Lou's wedding and I could hardly stand still. I felt like it was choking me." He put a hand to his throat as if he could already feel it there.

Joan pointed to an inset picture. "You can get a necktie with it too."

He looked at the smaller picture and sighed. It reminded him of the fat, puffy ties he saw the men wear when he watched Pride and Prejudice with Joan. "I don't know, Jane. Aren't there any other tuxes you like?"

She shrugged. "Flip through the book and see if there's anything you can live with."

He quickly flipped through a few pages. "I don't— I can't do this right now. I mean, I still have so much work."

"I thought things were supposed to change, once you made partner," she said, accusation creeping into her voice.

"Things have changed. I make my own hours and I can work from home if I need to. But that doesn't mean I have less to do. And I gotta get back to it." He put the book on her lap and left the room.

Joan watched him go up the stairs, trying not to be annoyed at his lack of enthusiasm for helping with the preparations.

Helen turned to her and said, "Sweetie, what about this one?" showing Joan a dress from the book she was holding.

Joan looked at it. "Oh, wow. That's an amazing dress, but Dad will kill me if I wear that."

Helen shrugged. "He'll get over it. Besides, this day is about you and Adam. It's about what you want and what will make Adam pass out at the altar." She smiled a little and Joan gently in the arm.

Joan looked at it again. The model wearing the dress in the picture was more made out to fit that dress than she probably would be, but it was still beautiful. The back dropped all the way to the waist. And it'd give her cleavage that would stop traffic. "Yeah, that'll definitely make him pass out." She smiled a little to herself, despite her earlier annoyance at him. She could just see the dreamy, agape look on his face when he set eyes on her for the first time in that dress.

"What about colors?" Helen asked, Joan looked confused so she opened another book with place settings for the reception. "You know, plate patterns, colors for the table cloths, bridesmaid's dresses, favors for your guests."

"I guess, just plain beige or something."

"Beige?" Helen looked mortified.

"Well, OK, that is a little boring. But soft colors, nothing green or pink or too loud. And nothing gender specific." She really felt bad making this decision without Adam, this wasn't a tux or dress or something they could decide on without each other's input.

Helen sensed her reluctance and flipped the page, trying to distract her daughter from the big, scary decisions with a small, easy one. "What about favors? There's matchbooks, mints, candles—"

"Shot glasses," Joan said quickly. Helen gave her a look. "Wait, we can't do that... Grace. I don't wanna give people mints, that'll just make them think we're telling them their breath stinks. The candles are nice, I guess."

"OK, candles—"

"But kids might light them and burn the place down, and then that'll be my fault. What about chocolate bars?"

Helen forced a smile and proceeded despite her daughter's uncanny ability to turn the simplest thing into a math problem. "They're nice. You can get them in dark, white, or milk chocolate."

Joan groaned, sticking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I can't do this, Mom. I really need Adam to help make these decisions. I mean, this is gonna affect the rest of our lives."

"A wedding favor will affect the rest of your lives?"

"Yes. I mean, people will think back to us and say 'Wow, these are the people who gave me the breath mints because I have bad breath. I don't wanna talk to those people.'"

"Joan, I doubt that." Helen gave her that 'come on' look that Joan had gotten so often from her mother as a kid.

Joan shook her head and closed the book. "Look, this all just has to wait until I can talk to Adam about it."

Helen nodded. "Well, just remember we need to get these things settled as soon as possible. There will be no waiting until the last minute with this wedding."

"I know that, Mom. I'll talk to him about it tonight."

* * *

At dinner, Joan looked across the table at Adam. He was picking lazily at his food. "Sweetie, what kind of favors do you think we should give people?"

He looked up, his eyebrows furrowed. "Favors?"

"You know, wedding favors. Stuff for people to take home with them that have our names and everything on them."

"Oh, right. What do think we should get?"

"I was thinking chocolate, but there's white, dark and milk chocolate. I didn't know which to get. I was thinking white. I mean, it is a wedding."

He shrugged. "People can be really particular about chocolate, Jane. Either they love it or they hate it, you know?"

She hadn't thought of that, he was right. "Well, there's a few more ideas in the book."

"Don't people usually give breath mints or something? Let's just do that."

Joan put her fork down, looking at Adam. "I know you're not really into all this preparation stuff, but I really need your help with it. I don't want to make all these decisions by myself. It is _our_ wedding. Not just mine."

"Jane, you're good with this stuff. I'm not. I trust your judgment. I don't really care if we have white table cloths or red table cloths or if the flowers are gonna be roses or carnations or geraniums."

Annoyance crept into her voice. "Who uses geraniums for wedding decoration?"

"Whatever, you know what I mean."

She leaned back in her chair. "_Whatever_?" she repeated. "Is that what you think about the wedding? Whatever? Let's just marry Joan because it'll make her happy?"

He sighed. "No," he said with conviction in his voice. "No, that's not what I meant. I wanna marry you. You know that. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you."

She looked down, not completely reconciled by his answer. "Yeah, well, right now you lack a bit of enthusiasm about the wedding."

He put his cutlery on his plate as well, reaching over to take one of her hands in both of his. "Jane," he pleaded. "Jane, look at me."

She lifted her head and their eyes met. He went on, "I do want to get married. To you. I want it more than anything in the world. I just never realized there was so much involved. I mean, it's starting to feel really huge, with the hundreds of guests and all the stuff that has to be decided. To be honest, it's kinda overwhelming. But I know how much it means to you and your mom, so I'll do my best to help. Just be a little patient with me, okay?"

She nodded, drawing her hand in his towards her mouth, kissing his softly. "You never told me that the idea of a big wedding scares you. "

"Yeah, well..." he rolled his head around as if it should be obvious.

"Maybe we should have talked about this sooner. Maybe we should have done it differently from the beginning."

He smiled slightly. "We tried that, remember?"

She couldn't help but smile too now. "Yeah," she said dreamily, but then grew more somber again. "Adam, I want this to be an amazing day for both of us. How can it be when it intimidates you?"

"It _will_ be amazing. And I know I'm gonna look back and remember it as one of the best days of my life. It's not the idea of the wedding that's intimidating me. It just seems like there's so much to organize and think about, and right now I have a lot of work at the studio and... It's just... it's a lot of pressure, you know?"

She tried to put herself in his shoes. Things at work for her were kinda slow these days, something she was very grateful for. Maybe she had been coming on too strong with all the wedding preparations lately. She knew that it wasn't a good idea to push Adam.

"OK," she finally said, trying to come up with a solution. "So what are we gonna do about this? There are decisions that I can't make on my own, decisions I don't _want_ to make on my own. Can we try to find a way to get these questions answered without you feeling pressured?"

He shrugged, feeling undeniably rotten and selfish for his avoidance.

"Honey, I'd love to give you some time for things to ease up," she resumed. "But some of this stuff really can't wait."

He tried like hell to diffuse his irritation. "Like what?"

"Like the tux. Or suit. Would you rather wear a suit?"

"The truth is, I hadn't really given it much thought. What do you think I should wear?" He picked up a leaf of lettuce with his fork and put it in his mouth.

"That's your choice, sweetie. You're the one who has to wear the monkey suit. You should pick it out. But I will say that I kinda always imagined you in a tux." She gave him a flirtatious grin.

Which he couldn't help returning. "OK. But with a bow tie?" he asked.

She gave him a forgiving look. "No. You hate bow ties, I get that. But there's all kinds of variations. You just have to look at the books with me. We'll find something that you're comfortable with."

"OK," he said. "I promise I'll set aside some time tomorrow for us to take another look at tuxes. I'll also think about the wedding favors. I kinda like the idea of having something special, something that's not quite so generic. Maybe I'll ask Christine too. She's got these really funky ideas sometimes, she's about the most creative person I know. Would that be OK with you?"

She nodded, smiling. "Yes, that would be great."

He gave her a winning smile and she knew they would get there somehow. Still, at that moment, she was really glad that she had her mother to help with everything.

* * *

On Saturday, Grace and Karen came over for dinner as they often did. Even though everyone else was in good spirits, Grace was weirdly quiet the entire meal.

"Is something wrong?" Joan whispered to Karen, who started to shrug.

"There's nothing wrong, Girardi," Grace said in a sharp tone. "And if you wanna know something about me, you can ask _me_."

Joan shook her head slightly, looking directly at Grace, addressing her. "Is there something wrong?"

"No. Everything's the same as it always was."

"What's going on? Is the Taltroxarone not working?" Adam asked.

"It's working," Grace mumbled. "Just very slowly. I mean, one day everything's fine and the next..." she trailed off and shook her head.

Joan struggled to find something to say, but she could only think of one thing. "Valentine's Day is coming up. Next Monday, actually."

"So?" Grace said.

"So, we should go somewhere. The four of us. Get away from everything for a weekend."

"Like where?" Adam said, taking a bite of food.

"I don't know, maybe we can try the Virginia Beach thing again. Or we could go to Crystal City and go to the Tea Dance at Freddie's."

Adam laughed. "Freddie's was wild."

"That place is depraved," Grace said flatly.

"And hilarious," Karen added. She glanced at Joan and they both broke up at the memory of Grace stuffing dollar bills into the garter of the hottest drag queen any of them had ever seen during a performance at Freddie's Follies.

Grace gave both of them a look that said she was currently not in the mood to relive that one.

"O...kay," Karen said, getting the hint. "We can always just go to Ocean City. That was fun last time."

"How is a weekend at the beach is gonna help anything? Plus, it's winter," Grace grumbled.

"So what? We don't have to go in the water. I mean, we can just hang out in town, go shopping." Joan looked at Adam, who shrugged.

Then he remembered something. "Oh, wait. What about my class on Sunday?"

"You can miss it one weekend," Joan said. "Call Mr. O'Connell. I'm sure he'd understand."

"Yeah, he would. But what about the kids? They look forward to it all week."

"Adam, everybody's entitled to a little vacation now and then."

He was so tired lately. He really felt like he needed a nice break from everything. Finally, he nodded. "I guess... Grace, you game?"

Grace looked down at her plate and didn't respond.

"Come on, Grace," Karen pleaded, putting an arm around her girlfriend. "I think Joan's right. We all need to get away for a few days."

"If I'm going, you're going," Adam said, trying to coax Grace into saying yes. "Come on, I'll book the rooms right now."

She didn't say anything for a long moment. "We aren't sharing rooms or anything like that."

"Obviously," Adam said, making a face.

"And no conjoining rooms either. I don't wanna hear you and Girardi goin' at it all night. Down the hall from each other. At least!" she called as Adam went upstairs to make hotel reservations.

Joan smirked sarcastically.

"So you'll really go," Karen asked.

"I'll go," Grace said as though it cost her blood. "But I won't like it."

"No one expects you to," Joan said with a smirk.

* * *

Adam, Joan, Karen and Grace crossed the street in Ocean City. Karen stopped in front of a jewelry store a few yards away, looking at rings in the window. Joan, Grace and Adam also stopped walking. Joan was rubbing her hands together, wishing she had taken gloves and brought her warmer jacket. It was way colder than the weather report had predicted.

"Let's grab a cup of coffee," she said. "I'm freezing."

Adam looked around, pointing at a round, green and white sign a few stores down the street. "There's a Starbucks."

Grace gave him a disapproving look. "You drive, like, a hundred miles to Ocean City only to hang out at Starbucks? That's pathetic, dude. You can have that anywhere."

Adam lifted his eyebrows. "Well, they _do_ make great coffee," he said defensively.

Joan tried to smooth out the atmosphere, wondering why Grace was so easily irritable these days. Was there more going on? "I saw this cute, local café earlier, that's just round the corner. Maybe we can try that one."

Adam nodded. "Sure, sounds good."

Grace also gave a laconic nod. "Fine with me."

"Then let's go." Joan started walking again.

The others followed her. Once inside the shop, Joan and Karen went to go find a table while Adam pulled Grace off into a corner. "So... am I allowed to ask?" he said softly.

"It depends. What do you want to know?" She folded her arms in front of her.

"What's with the attitude?"

"Attitude?" she repeated. "Dude, I've had an attitude since birth. If you've never noticed—"

"You know what I mean," he said, cutting her off. "Why are you acting like this? What's going on?"

She sighed a little. "There's a _lot_ of stuff going on."

"Like, what?" He hesitantly took a step toward her. "Are you and Karen OK?"

She rolled her eyes. "We're fine. It's the same crap as always."

He thought he knew what she was talking about. "Your mother."

Grace just nodded silently.

"I thought you said she was doing better."

"I told you, she is, then she isn't. It's a roller coaster."

"Yeah," he nodded, he definitely understood that. "The uncertainty, not knowing what the next day is gonna bring. It gets to you, doesn't it?"

Grace looked at him, suddenly feeling a little ashamed for snapping at him. Adam clearly knew what it was like to have a parent who was unstable and unpredictable. He was all too aware of the frustrations that came with it. And she also knew that if she could talk to anyone about it, it would be him.

She gave him an apologetic and sad look and said quietly, "Sorry, Rove. I don't mean to be such a party pooper. I just—"

He put a hand on her upper arm and squeezed it a little, even though he really wanted to give her a hug. "I know," he said in an understanding voice. "Just hang in there. It'll get better if she sticks with the therapy. You gotta know that you can come and talk to me if you need to, OK?"

She nodded again and Adam hoped it would finally sink in with Grace that she didn't have to carry all her burdens on her own. He looked into the seating area, where Joan and Karen were at a small corner table, chatting away.

Grace followed his gaze. "We should get back before Girardi orders for us. I don't wanna end up with some mochachino crap."

"Mochachino?" he repeated with a smile. "I think you're safe."

They walked over to the table. "What's going on?" Adam asked as he pulled out his chair to sit down.

Karen and Joan fell silent, Joan looked up at him. "She pulled my seat out for me."

He gave Karen a look and motioned for Joan to stand, but she didn't get it. "Um, that's my job..." Finally, she stood and Adam pushed her chair back in then over—ceremoniously pulled it out again, nodding for her to sit down like she was royalty.

"You are hilarious," Joan mumbled as she sat back down and Adam pushed her chair closer to the table.

"So, what were you guys talking about?" he asked when he finally sat down.

"Valentine's Day is tomorrow. We should all go shopping, you know, for gifts for each other," Joan said.

Grace was lucky Joan and Karen hadn't ordered drinks yet, because if she had, it would have come out her nose. "You gotta be kidding me. Valentine's Day? It's just a scam created by greeting card companies to make a profit."

"Told you," Karen said to Joan.

"Come on, Grace," Joan coaxed. "You can't honestly think that."

"She's right," Adam said with a shrug.

Joan whipped her head around to look at her fiancé. "Are you serious?"

He shrugged again. "It's true. I'm in advertising. It's just a marketing ploy."

"Remember when you used to be romantic?"

"I still am!" he proclaimed. "I just think Valentine's Day is stupid."

"You didn't when we were younger. What, now you don't have to work anymore because you got me for good?"

"I didn't say—" he began but groaned and put his face into his hands. "I thought we all agreed, no gifts."

"No _elaborate_ gifts. We could just get little fun things. There's a shop down the block."

"I guess we're going shopping," Grace mumbled.

* * *

"Nothing pink. I don't do pink," Grace called across the store to Karen and Joan, as she looked at different items with Adam.

"Come on," Joan said. "Pink is the Valentine's Day color."

"So what? No one said I had to like it. I've expressed my disdain for this so-called Holiday."

Joan picked something up and she and Karen fell into giggles.

"What are you guys doing over there?" Adam asked, turning to look at them.

Joan quickly hid what she was holding from Adam's view. "It's a surprise." She pointed something out to Karen, they giggled again.

Karen picked up what Joan had pointed to and they hurried to the cash register, successfully hiding their purchases from Adam and Grace.

Adam and Grace quickly picked out their gifts so they could leave the shop before it closed and see what the girls had gotten them. Joan looked at him and smiled, she knew that almost desperate look in his eye.

The hotel they where they were staying was within walking distance of the store, so they took advantage of the cool but dry weather and hoofed it. Adam slung an arm around Joan's waist, trying to open the bag she was holding on her other side to get a peek at what she'd bought.

She laughed and slapped his arm away. "Stop it. You'll see what it is when we get to the hotel."

"Trust me, you'll like it," Karen told him with a mischievous smile.

Adam smiled as well, then laughed. "So let's get to the hotel." He started running and pulled on Joan's hand as Grace and Karen walked after them.

When they reached their hotel room, Adam couldn't stop smiling. "What'd you get?" he asked breathlessly.

She smiled and pulled the box out of her bag, showing him what it was.

"Edible panties," he read out loud. "Interesting."

She nodded and put the box on the table. "So, what'd you get me?"

He smiled, a little bit embarrassed. "A teddy bear," he produced the small white and red bear from his bag.

"Aw, he's adorable." She beamed at Adam and studied the teddy bear.

Then her face took on a thoughtful expression that almost made Adam laugh. "You're not contemplating any deeper meaning in that teddy bear, are you? If I'd had more time, I would have picked something a little more creative and meaningful."

"I was just trying to come up with a name for him."

Adam laughed. "A name? You're not serious."

She nodded. "Oh yes. A stuffed animal needs a name, or it can't properly be loved," she said very seriously.

He looked at her, trying to decide whether she was kidding. Sure didn't seem like it—and before Adam could make up his mind, she burst out, "Orlando."

"Orlando?"

"Yes, Orlando."

"Bloom?"

She smiled a mischievous smile. "Got me."

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" he teased her.

"I couldn't name him Adam, could I?"

"No, I'd feel like a subdefective all over again if you reduced me to white fur and brown glass eyes."

She laughed and set the teddy bear on the table, its back facing the room. "If we're gonna get our use out of these panties, he shouldn't be watching." She took the box with the edible panties and went to the bathroom to put them on.

Adam undressed quickly and got into bed, waiting for Joan. After a moment she returned, wearing only the red string bikini panties. She crawled into bed beside him.

"What, uh, what flavor are they?" he forced out as soon as he could find his voice.

"Passion fruit."

A smile spread across his face as he watched her lay down against the pillows...

Afterward, they lay together on the bed, legs entwined, him halfway on top.

And he still just could not stop smiling. "I have a weird question." She looked at him. "What did Karen buy for Grace?"

She leaned against his shoulder. "Were you thinking about that the whole time?"

"Oh, God, no," he said quickly. "I was just wondering."

"First tell me what Grace got for Karen."

"Altoids," he said simply.

"Are you kidding me? Karen will think Grace is trying to tell her she's got bad breath."

"I doubt that that's what Grace had in mind for them." He laughed a little and let it hang in the air.

Finally, she got a eureka look on her face. "Oh yeah... Forgot about that."

"What did Karen buy for Grace?" he asked again.

She laughed and put her face into his chest. "Nipple clamps," she said through a giggle.

He made a face. "I guess it's a good thing we didn't get conjoining rooms after all."

She chuckled lightly and said, "You realize your gift was the only apparently non-kinky one anybody bought, right?"

"Well..." He raised an eyebrow as he lifted his head to seek out at the bear on the other side of the room.

She hit him in the chest. "No! We are not using Orlando as kink!"

He let out a chuckle. "It was just a suggestion."

"Well, it was a bad one."

* * *

There was a stiff breeze whipping through Adam and Joan's hair as they walked along the deserted beach. The February air was cold and the wind off the water made it feel even colder. Even though they had both donned their woolen sweaters and parkas, Joan snuggled up to Adam's side and put her arm around his back. He mirrored the gesture, drawing her to him.

In the distance over the sea, murky clouds banded together to form a dark gray wall that looked like it might bring rain before long.

Joan studied the cloud formations as they walked in silence and then turned her attention to Adam. "This is nice. Kinda romantic."

"You think so? It's bloody cold."

She smiled. "Just the two of us, alone, on the beach. Not a soul in sight. How is that not romantic?"

Matter-of-factly, he said, "It's February."

She tried to put a pouty quality in her voice. "You're no fun." After a moment's silence, she addressed him again. "You're not still mad at me for bugging you about the wedding plans, are you?"

He turned his head to look at her. "What? No." He paused a moment. "No, that was..." He trailed off again.

She pressed her hand into his side, just hard enough for him to feel it through his jacket. "Adam, you seem awfully distracted."

"I... I was just thinking about Grace."

"Did you talk to her?"

"Yeah, at the café. I think it's just really getting to her—everything that's going on with Sarah."

"Did something happen?" Joan asked.

"No. At least not that I know of. I think she's just frustrated that the clinical study hasn't turned out to be the miracle cure she hoped it would be. Well, I mean, I don't even know if she was hoping for that. But I know that she expected things to get easier once Sarah got into the program. And that's just not the case... I think she's just trying to work all of that out."

Joan looked at the sand at her feet that was damp and hard. "Well, I did hope things would get better."

"Yeah," Adam sighed. "Maybe she isn't even getting the drug. She might be on placebo, you know."

"They knew that was a possibility."

"Yeah, I guess so," he mumbled. "It would suck if that was the case though."

"I know. So what did you say to her?"

"That she should hang in there and hope for the best. And to come talk to me if she needs to."

Joan gave him another affectionate squeeze. "You did your best."

"Did I?" he challenged her.

"Baby, what else can you really do?"

"I don't know," he reiterated. "We were supposed to help her, but how have we done that? She's still miserable."

"But her mom is getting help. Maybe it's not working perfectly, but they're _trying_, they're working toward something and not sitting there hopelessly, right?"

He nodded and she slipped her arm through his as they continued walking.

"Adam, you've been a really great friend to her. You do know that, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Hope so."

"Grace doesn't... emote much. But she loves you and she's glad you're there for her. I think as friends go, you're right up there with the very best of them."

He wanted to believe that. He smiled at her and leaned over to give her a sweet peck on the lips.

"Do you want me to talk to her?" she asked, smiling back at him.

He thought for a moment, considered her offer. "Nah, I think she'd just clam up if you approached her. Maybe she should just figure it out for herself. I mean, if she ever gives you an opening, sure, go for it. Otherwise, give her space."

Joan nodded. "OK."

She felt Adam relax a little as they kept walking. Maybe it was time to bring up what was on _her_ mind. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

He looked at her. "Shoot."

"Well, I..." she started uncertainly. "I don't want you to feel pressured or nagged or anything."

"Is this about the wedding?"

She nodded hesitantly. "Yeah."

"Jane," he said softly, stopping, turning to her and taking her face in his hands. "It's okay. We can talk about our wedding. I'm sorry I was a jerk about it."

"You weren't a jerk." She smiled at him. "I was just being too pushy."

His hands slid down until he was holding her to him by the waist. "Ah, never mind that now. Let's start over. What did you wanna talk about?"

"Well... you know that there's still a lot to organize, decisions to be made, wardrobe choices, things like that."

He nodded. "Yeah. Like my tux, huh?"

"I know you wanted us all to get away from the real world for a while. We can wait and do this when we get back home if you'd rather."

"No," he said, "No, let's talk about the wardrobe for our wedding." He added mischievously, "Since we're out here all alone and it's so romantic and everything."

She stuck her tongue out at him defiantly.

He laughed at her. "You asked me if I'd rather wear a suit than a tux. I think you're right. We should go with the tux. It's classy. Traditional. I think I'd like that. I think Mom and Dad would love it."

"Well, then that's settled. You want a tie to go with it, right?"

"Yes. No bow tie. Please."

Now it was Joan's turn to laugh. "No bow tie. We wouldn't want you up there looking like a penguin, would we? I saw this really nice, silky, dark purple tie the other day. It had these narrow diagonal white stripes. I think that would go really well with a tux and a plain, white shirt. I can almost see you in it right now."

"Our wedding colors are gonna be purple and white?"

"Nothing is decided yet. Except that you'll wear an incredibly sexy, fairly traditional tux, with a rockin' tie."

"Sounds perfect," he grinned. "But I definitely wanna have some say in the color."

"You'll have a say in more than just the color."

He looked at her, his expression earnest. "Seriously, I don't want you to feel like you can't come to me with these things because I'm gonna be all intimidated or overwhelmed. Whatever you need help with, please know that you can run it by me."

She gave him a placative smile. "OK. Got it. But you gotta know that if I'm being too pushy, you can tell me that too. I don't want this to be something that's gonna stress us out to the point where we're getting fed up with it."

He just nodded in acknowledgment.

"There's one more thing we gotta decide about fairly soon," she brought the conversation back on track. "The wedding favors. You wanted to do something a little more creative than mints or chocolates. Have you given that anymore thought or asked Christine about it?"

His face suddenly lit up, as if he had only just remembered. "Oh, yeah! I meant to tell you about that. We talked the other day, and she had this cute idea that I really liked. You know how people don't like to throw rice anymore because birds eat it and it kills them?"

She nodded.

"Well, instead of birdseed, we could combine the favor with something for people to do to send us off. We can get these little things called bubble baubles, with little imprinted bottles of soap on a lanyard. Wouldn't it be kinda cool if everyone blew bubbles as we left the church? I think that would be really special."

Joan pondered the idea for a moment, before she said, "Yeah, I really like that."

"Great. I'll look into it. How many will we need?"

"I'll have to get back to you with an exact count, once Mom finalizes the guest list. I think they're inviting everyone they ever met in their whole lives."

He chuckled.

"I'm the first one of my generation of Girardis to tie the knot. To them, it's a pretty big deal."

He smiled down at her contentedly. They had turned around a while ago and were now walking back towards the hotel. She snuggled closer to him as some cold air hit her face.

"You know if it wasn't so cold..." he started but trailed off when he heard her teeth chattering.

"What?"

"Never mind." He took her hands and started to draw her away.

"No, what?" She stayed put.

He looked at her. "You were saying how weirdly romantic it is here, and we're all alone..."

"You are _not_ thinking about us having sex out here?" She made a face. It was way too cold for that.

"No." He shook his head slightly. "Well, yes. But you're freezing, so we should get back to the hotel and get you warmed up."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

He smiled a little mischievously. "I have my ways. Unless my genitals crawled back inside for warmth. I swear I feel like a Ken doll right now. Where'd they go?" He glanced down, laughing.

She laughed too and wrapped her arms around him. "Sounds like_ I _need to warm _you_ up."

"You're on. Let's go."

Sand flew as he raced her back up the beach. When they reached their hotel room, they were once again glad they didn't have conjoining rooms with Grace and Karen.

* * *


	32. Out On A Limb

_**Chapter 25**_**  
Out On A Limb**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

_**Author's Note:  
**__Gee, look, I had to go McPunisher on poor Adam all over again. Sorry about that. He's just too cute not to let Joan mother-hen him. :o) Also, this stemmed from something that happened to me a few years back. Ouch._

_**Synopsis:  
**__Adam has a minor accident playing badminton that gets in the way of the last minute wedding preparations. Also, he receives an unexpected call from an old friend that makes Joan a little... uncomfortable._

_**Rating: **__PG-13_

_**Disclaimer:  
**__These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool._

* * *

"Hey, baby, how was—Adam! What happened?"

Joan stopped dead in her tracks after hearing the front door open and seeing Adam come into their home.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a little mishap."

He was limping—not very badly, but enough to notice right away. He had his gym bag slung over his shoulder, the handle of the badminton racquet sticking out of one end.

"Nothing?!" she repeated. "You're limping."

"I lost my footing and sprained my ankle. It's not a big deal."

He let the gym bag drop to the floor in the living room and slowly made his way to the couch, where he plopped. She followed him, lingering close by, watching how he stretched out his injured left foot on the seat.

Joan repeated again. "What if it's a torn ligament or something? Did you see a doctor?"

Adam was already getting a little annoyed with her slightly condescending verbal fussing. "No, I didn't see a doctor," he told her. "It's just a sprain. I'll be all right in a few days."

"Adam, we're getting married in a week, I can't have you incapacitated. There's so much we still need to take care of. We were gonna go to the tailor's tomorrow to pick up your tux. Why in God's name did you have to go play badminton the week before our wedding?"

"Jane, look, I didn't do this on purpose, okay? Anything can happen at any time. I could have been plowed down by a truck when I crossed the street, or hit by piece of frozen crap falling from an airplane. I could have been struck by a meteor. I can't lock myself in the house because we're getting married in a week!"

Joan turned and went into the kitchen wordlessly. A few minutes later she came back into the living room. Adam had taken off his shoes and left sock and was rubbing his injured foot. She sat down on the couch next to his outstretched leg. In a softer voice, she said, "Here, let me see."

She carefully lifted his foot onto her thigh, and he let her. "Where did you sprain it?"

He indicated the area on the outside, just below the ankle. It was already swollen and she could see a bruise beginning to form. She wrapped a Ziplock bag with a towel and carefully placed it on his foot. "It's important that you ice it right away to keep the swelling down. Kevin had his fair share of sprains when he was still playing football. I think I also have some of that homeopathic ointment he used to swear by. It really helped when I twisted my knee last year."

Adam looked at Joan holding the ice bag to his ankle, then at her. "Thanks. I'm sorry I snapped at you. You really are a saint to put up with me. I just have this knack for messing up at the worst possible times."

Her voice was soothing now. "It's okay. It wasn't your fault. We have a couple of days to fix this. Just keep it elevated keep and stay off it. If it gets worse, we'll take you to the doctor tomorrow."

He nodded, then interjected, "Hey, it's not like I'm a total invalid. I can walk, just a little more slowly. I can still help with errands. We can still go to the tailor's tomorrow."

"No no no, you're not going anywhere, not for the next day or two. I need you up and running by next week. I'll get my mom or Lydia or Grace to help me finish up."

Adam suddenly had to smirk. "I'd love to see your mom or Grace try on my tux."

Joan had to smile at that too. "Don't worry about the tux. We'll work something out. It'll be fine."

She indicated for Adam to lift his other foot up and lay it on her thigh. She took the sock off his right foot and started massaging it. "I work best under pressure anyway. Now just relax and let me take care of everything."

He couldn't help but sigh at her expertly working his uninjured foot. He leaned back and almost forgot about the dull pain in his ankle, the tension of his strained muscles and the pressure of the situation easing ever so slowly.

He woke up when someone touched his arm, said his name. It took him a few seconds to focus and realize it was his fiancée, his beautiful bride-to-be. She affectionately smoothed a strand of his short hair away from his temple. "Hey, sleepyhead," she said in a low voice. "I think you'd be more comfortable in bed."

He nodded, muttering, "Yeah." He stood up, but as soon as he put pressure on his left ankle, he let out a sharp, "Shit!"

Joan was by his side immediately. "Yeah, it hurts more when you haven't moved it for a while. Here." She took his arm and draped it around her shoulder.

"Oh man," Adam moaned, "this is embarrassing."

"Why? You'd do it for me."

She helped him up the stairs and into bed, remembering with a bittersweet pang how she had done this before. But back then Adam had just buried his dad and he was roaring drunk. At least this wasn't as bizarre as that night.

She got the ointment and a bandage and sat down at the foot of his side of the bed. He winced when she carefully massaged the ointment into his skin, mumbling, "Sorry."

When she was done bandaging his ankle, he moved it gingerly, as if to test her handiwork. "You're really good at this. You should have been a nurse."

"Talk about a thankless job for no pay. Nah..."

"A doctor, then."

"Years and years of studying my ass off to suck up to bone-headed Attendings as a low-life Intern? Not much better."

"Maybe you should just be my wife, then."

She smiled a sweet smile at him. "That sounds like the right job for me."

"Mm-hm," he nodded.

"Hey, you think you can sleep? You want anything for the pain?"

He shook his head. "No, I think I'll be okay. Just come here and kiss me."

Joan obliged gladly. Then she noticed the smelly ointment on her hands. "I need to wash up and change. I'll be right back."

"You'd better," he said in a mock threatening voice.

"Oh, and what will you do, Hopalong? It's not like you can catch me," she teased him.

He started imitating the Black Knight from _Monty Python And The Holy Grail_, British accent and all. "'Tis but a scratch. I've had worse. Come on, you pansy! Chicken! Chickeeeen!"

"Shut up," Joan just laughed and vanished into the bathroom.

* * *

She awoke from Adam moving in bed next to her. A quick look at the illuminated numbers on her alarm clock told her it was 2:52. She looked over at him and saw that his eyes were open; he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. "Should have taken a painkiller, huh?" she quietly whispered, sounding sleepy.

His head came around and he looked at her. "Hm?" he asked. "Yeah, maybe," he then conceded.

She turned and got out of bed, leaving the bedroom. She returned a minute later with two pills and a glass of water, setting both on his nightstand. "Here, these should help."

He smiled at her helplessly. "Thanks."

"Now be a good boy and take them."

"Okay." He washed them down with two gulps of water, his brow creasing ever so slightly as he did.

"Probably should've made you take some kind of anti-inflammatory anyway, whether you wanted to or not," she said as he handed the glass back to her. "Anything else you need while I'm up? More ice?"

He shook his head. She gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead before she got back into bed to lie down next to him. "Think you can sleep?"

His voice was quiet when he answered, "I don't know. Once the meds kick in, I hope so."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Short of instant miracle healing, no, I don't think so."

She drew nearer to him, taking his hand that lay on the blanket, kissing the top of it. He flexed his fingers so that they threaded through hers, a simple affectionate gesture that said so much. His arm came around her shoulders and he gently tugged at her to place her head in the crook of his neck near his collarbone, caressing her temple with his fingertips. His voice was deep and gentle, the way it was in the quiet of the night. It would often make shivers run down her spine. "The fact that I can't sleep doesn't mean that you shouldn't."

She whispered, "You think I can go to sleep when I know you're lying here in pain?"

"It's not so bad, Jane. I'll be fine. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow. I can nap on the couch all day."

"True."

He bent his head so that he could kiss the top of her head. "Come on, go to sleep," he gently urged.

She sighed and nodded slightly. "I'll try."

Sooner than either of them expected, she drifted back off to sleep in his arms and Adam's mouth curved into a smile as he felt her doing so. How had he ever gotten so lucky? The woman he loved was lying in his arms, she would be his wife in just a few days. They were living under the same roof and even though they'd had a few minor setbacks, everything had turned out almost perfectly. Was it her special connection to God that had brought her back to him? Had the planets aligned and finally given him a break?

Best not to question it. He sighed and shifted his position ever so slightly, so as not to wake her. Yes, the painkillers seemed to be kicking in, the dull pain in his ankle was lessening and he thought he might just fall back to sleep if he tried.

He remembered how Joan had told him about yoga and the relaxation exercise you always did at the end. He slowly breathed out and consciously relaxed all the muscles in his body, from his toes to his back and arms, taking long and even breaths as he did. Just as he had convinced himself that it was complete nonsense, his mind began to drift off and before he knew it, he too was sound asleep.

* * *

"Here," Joan said matter-of-factly as she handed Adam a sketchpad and a handful of his drafting pencils. He was sitting on the couch, his left foot propped up with an ice bag on it.

He looked up at her questioningly. "What's this?"

"This is you sitting still for a while. Because I just know once I leave, you'll be hobbling around."

He sighed. "You know me too well. But I promise I'll be good."

"You sure it really feels better? You're not just humoring me? I still say it'd be safer to see a doctor."

He shook his head. "Yes, it's better. And no, I don't want to go to a doctor. He'd just send me home and tell me to keep it iced and elevated and I would have wasted a good two hours in some crowded waiting room, aggravating the ankle more than necessary. Don't worry, it's not a torn ligament, I'm sure of it."

"How?"

"I can still walk on it."

She relented. "Okay. Be that way. I'll be back in a couple of hours. Want me to get you anything, so you don't have to get up? Something to drink, eat?"

He indicated a water bottle on the floor and a bag of chips on the coffee table. "Jane, stop with the fussing. You're like a mother hen. I'll. Be. Fine," he said pronouncedly.

She lifted her arms. "Okay, okay. Sorry. I'm leaving now."

His look was sweet and enticing on her before she turned to go. "I promise I'll be sitting here like a log, sketching images of my beautiful bride-to-be all day."

"Looking forward to seeing them," she called back through the open door. "Later!" And she was gone.

Adam leaned back against the cushions, taking up the sketchpad and a pencil. They'd been so busy with wedding preparations and their work lately that he hadn't had much time for drawing or painting or sculpting anything just for pleasure. This might be a nice break, even if it was an involuntary one. He figured he should make the best of it.

Opening the pad to reveal a blank, white page, he stared at it and soon began mentally leafing through still frames he had stored in his head. Sometimes it felt like he had an imaginary photo album hidden somewhere in there. A gift he didn't treasure often enough, he thought.

He tried searching for a good "shot" of her that he could render on the page, but somehow he wasn't having much success today. Sure, he had tons of pictures of her in his head and he always enjoyed drawing her, bringing out the little details he loved so much—her full mouth, her beautiful eyes. But today he felt like creating something more... sizable. Something more capacious, with more impact. Something he'd need canvas and easel for.

He knew he had promised to stay put as best as he could, but he needed to go to the shed for this. He could sit still in the shed just as well as he could in the house. He went into the kitchen and gathered a few things he would be taking, so that he wouldn't need to go back and forth. Then he left a note for Joan, so she would know where to find him when she came home.

* * *

The green needed to be lighter, more luscious. He dipped the brush into the yellow blotch of paint on the pallet and applied it to the canvas in well-defined strokes. Ah, that was more like it. The grass looked a lively green now and the one lonesome tree in the center of the image had come to life too. In the grassy field surrounding it, there was a woman in a white, flowing dress and long brown hair—Jane in the middle of nature's most essential beauty, the warm sun shining on her body.

It was a snapshot he had mentally taken on the drive home from work just a few days ago. He passed this field with the tree every day, but a few days ago he had noticed for the first time what a beautiful image it presented, the low evening sun giving it a warm and naturally comfortable atmosphere. He had wanted to paint it right there and then, but of course he neither had the time nor the tools on hand.

He put down the brush and surveyed his work. It was far from finished, but he had gotten off to a good start. The basics were all there. He was already contemplating where to hang the painting. It might go very well in the guest room.

Feeling the tension in his shoulders, he stretched out his arms over his head, flexing the muscles in his back and arms. His foot was propped up on the extra chair he had dragged over, the ice pack long ago melted and discarded.

"Knock knock," he suddenly heard a familiar voice from the door. He looked up into Joan's eyes. She entered, smiling broadly. "I thought I told you to stay put," she chided.

"You never said where. I did stay put, just not in the house." As she came over to stand next to him, he pointed to the melted ice pack. "See? That's how long I haven't moved."

She teasingly patted his head. "Good boy. Look, I even brought you a reward." She handed him a bar of Swiss Lindt chocolate, the expensive kind that you could only get in the specialty or gourmet stores.

A smile spread over his face. "Aw, Jane. Yumm. I don't know why you think I deserve it, but... I'm not complaining. Come down here and kiss me." He tugged at her hand and she did as she was told, meeting his lips in a long, luscious kiss that made the beginnings of a tingle form somewhere down her spine.

But before this could become anything more, she broke from him and looked at the half-finished painting. "Wow, you did all this in one morning?"

"Yeah. It's not finished yet. You like it?"

"I love it," she said with true conviction. "You know, that would look great in the guest room."

Adam smiled knowingly. "Great minds... I was just thinking the same thing right before you came in."

"Then I guess we know where the finished product is gonna be hung."

He nodded and just as he was about to reply, the cordless phone he had taken and put on the table rang. He looked at Joan and she wordlessly indicated for him to answer it. The display said "unknown caller". Who in the world? "Hello?" he said into the speaker.

"Is this Adam Rove?" a female voice came from the other end.

"Yes, speaking."

"I'm not sure if you'll remember me..."

Then it suddenly dawned on him, the voice sounded uncannily familiar. "Layla?" he asked.

Joan lifted both eyebrows at the female name she had never heard Adam mention before. She looked at him curiously.

"Wow, you _do_ remember me," the voice on the phone answered.

"Can you hang on just one sec?" he asked her and took the phone away from his ear.

With one pleading look of Adam's, Joan knew he'd rather have this conversation in private. She met his gaze and said understandingly, "I'll be in the house."

He nodded and gave her a grateful look. His fiancée listening in on a conversation with his ex-girlfriend wasn't exactly the least awkward situation, and he'd rather avoid uncomfortable questions. As soon as Joan was out the door, he picked up the phone again. "Sorry. I'm back."

"Is this a bad time?"

"No. No, not at all. How are you? It's been a long time."

"Yeah, I know," she said. "I hear you're getting married."

Oh, so that's what this was? Checking up on the ex's status? He wasn't sure what to make of that. Was she just trying to be nice, trying to tell him, _Hey, no regrets, I'm happy that you're happy_? He'd find out soon enough. He replied neutrally, "Yeah, tying the knot next week."

"Do I know her?"

Oh wow, straight to the point, Layla. She obviously hadn't changed much. "Joan."

Silence. Then finally, a quiet, "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. So you're living the dream, huh? Marrying your high school sweetheart? How adorable," she teased.

"Don't make fun," he said, smiling into the phone. She was always doing that. "This is the love of my life we're talking about here."

"All right, I take it back, Mr. Sensitive."

They both laughed.

"You sound really happy," she commented, there was no bitterness in her voice.

"I am," he told her earnestly. "So, how about you?"

"You mean my love life? If you wanna hear that I've been a pathetically heart-broken sad-sack ever since we broke up, I'm sorry, but I'll have to disappoint you. I met this really sweet guy about a year ago. We've been thinking about moving in together."

"Wow, that's great," he said, and he meant it too.

"Okay," Layla said, "now that we've established that we're both spoken for, how's life been treatin' ya otherwise?"

"Oh, um..." he stopped. Layla didn't know about his father yet. His voice was suddenly sadder, a notch deeper. "Actually, my dad passed away, May last year."

"Adam," her voice became compassionate. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," he whispered. "I was lucky I had Joan to help me through all of it. That's what brought us back together, actually. She moved in with me. Helped me remodel the old house. It's downright cozy now. You wouldn't even recognize it." And he didn't know where it suddenly came from, but he couldn't stop himself before the words were out of his mouth. "Hey, why don't you come to the wedding?"

There was a moment's silence before she replied, "That's really sweet, but I think there might be major awkwardness."

"Nah."

"Adam, you don't invite your ex to your wedding."

"You don't?"

"No."

Adam breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Yeah, well... maybe we can get together some other time. You know, catch up. You still in Rhode Island?"

"No, actually Sean and I live in DC now. I found a job as a media designer there."

"Oh, really? Me too. Well, not in DC, obviously. Small world, huh?"

"Hey, it's not exactly that big a surprise. We both majored in graphic design, we were both totally computer-savvy. Kind of a given that we'd look for jobs in that area, isn't it?"

Of course she was right. "Yeah, I guess."

"So, you're doing okay then?" she asked, sounding slightly worried still.

"I'm doing fine. Well, actually I just sprained my ankle yesterday, but other than that..."

"Ouch," she dryly commented. "Didn't you say you're getting married next week?"

_Oh no, not Layla too._ "It's not that bad. I'll be fine by then." He chuckled slightly. "You sound just like Joan. She almost threw a fit when she saw me limping in. Tell me, is that a woman thing?"

Layla laughed at the other end. "I don't know. Maybe it is. Or maybe Joan is just as much of a control freak as I am. She probably had the whole week planned through and you just messed up her meticulously prepared schedule. Women get grumpy when that happens."

"Oh, thanks for enlightening me," he teased. "So, how about you? You doing okay?"

"Yeah," she said brightly. "Things are great. Just got a promotion. _And_ a pay-rise. With any luck, Sean will pass his boards next week and start as a surgical Intern at the local hospital. Can't complain."

"Sounds wonderful." Just at that moment, he saw Joan peeking in through the window. He waved for her to come in and told Layla, "Listen, I gotta go. But if you wanna meet up some time, let me know. We have a client in Washington and I sometimes have to go there. Why don't I give you a call next time that's about to happen?"

"Yeah, I'd love that. Let me give you my number."

Adam picked up the pencil from the desk and scribbled down Layla's number on a piece of scrap paper. They said their goodbyes and hung up.

He felt Joan's gaze piercing him. He knew she was dying to know who Layla was and why he was so interested in meeting her. By way of explanation, he told her, "Before you ask, she's an old friend."

"Old _girl_friend?" Joan immediately asked.

He sighed. "Yeah."

"_The_ old girlfriend?" she concluded.

"Well, no, because _you_ are _the_ old girlfriend."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, she's the girl I told you about."

Her voice was laced with incredulity. "And you're gonna meet with your ex-girlfriend?"

He lifted his arms in a defensive gesture. "Whoa, back up. She's got a boyfriend, they're moving in together. And, Jane, you can't seriously doubt at this stage how much I love you, right? Come on, I'm marrying you next week. You need more than that?"

Joan looked slightly sheepish as she shrugged.

"There is no," he held up a hand to stress his statement, "and I mean absolutely _no_ romantic interest between Layla and I."

"Okay," she acknowledged. "I'm sorry. But can you really blame for being a tiny bit jealous? I already lost you to another woman once."

"That's not exactly true. You lost me to my stupidity. And I'm not inclined to repeat the biggest mistake of my life." He got up from his chair and walked over carefully, taking her by the hips and drawing her near for a kiss. "You're never gonna get rid of me. I love you with everything that I have."

She smiled sweetly, tears forming in her eyes despite her wanting to hold them in check. "I love you too," she sighed. "So much it's beyond ridiculous."

"Guess we're stuck with each other then," he said.

"Yep, forever." They kissed again before Joan pulled away and told him, "Oh, I almost forgot. Lunch is ready. Well, lunch _was_ ready before I came in here."

He smiled. "Good, I'm starving. I'm sure your magic cooking skills will fix me right up."

"So, how is the foot doing?" she asked as she watched him take a few steps.

"Getting there."

And it was true, it seemed like he was getting a little better. She inwardly breathed a small sigh of relief. The wedding would work out. No need to get all tense and worried. Maybe she could drag him to the tailor's tomorrow. She put her arm around his waist, less for support than as a loving gesture, and together they walked toward their house.

* * *


	33. Everything Always :: Part 1

_**Chapter 27**_  
**Everything... Always**

**- Part One -**

_by Sisterdebmac, Laura & Carol  
with additions by TeeJay _

* * *

_**Deb's Author's Note:**  
This has been a long time coming. We hope the results are as weird, funny, sweet and satisfying as these characters deserve. I'd like to extend my thanks to Laura, who has been a real inspiration and a wonderful co-conspirator. And to Carol, who breathed new life into the chapter._

_**Laura's Author's Note:**  
I'm baaaack. I pretty much wanna say exactly what Deb said but I would like to thank Deb and TeeJay, for letting me back into their little Butterflies universe._

_**Carol's Author's Note:**  
What a blast this has been! I've loved "Butterflies" so much since I first found it last summer. It's been a wonderful experience to see it from the inside. Many thanks to Deb and TeeJay for allowing me to participate._

_**TeeJay's Author's Note:**  
__ Who would have thought that our most faithful reviewer turned out to be an amazing writer and would become an active contributor to this story? Thank you, Carol. You too, Laura. I'm so glad that both of you jumped on the bandwagon for this one and helped out. We couldn't have done it without you, guys. _

_**Missing Chapter?**  
If you're wondering why this is chapter 27 when the previous chapter was 25, no, we're not missing a chapter. Chapter 26 exists, but it's an R-rated chapter that we didn't include in the PG version._

_**Synopsis:**  
The big day arrives. It's finally time for Adam and Joan's wedding. Everybody ready?_

_**Rating: PG **__for adult language._

_**Disclaimer:**  
They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah. With apologies once again to all of the above._

_**Warning:**  
This one ran long so it will be a two-parter. But don't worry, we won't make you wait long. Promise._

* * *

_**THURSDAY, MARCH 31, 2011**_

"Jane, come here for a minute."

Adam was sitting on the couch, watching Joan run from one room to the next, her cell phone in her hand.

She just gave him a cursory glance. "Don't have time."

"Jane," he tried again, but this time with more quiet urgency to his voice.

"Adam," she snarled at him. "Not now. Can't you see I'm busy?"

He got up and went to meet her in the middle of the room, blocking her way. "Please, just slow down for one minute. Please."

She looked at him, unnerved. "What?" she said impatiently.

He gently lifted up her arm and took the cell phone from her hand, pulling at it to guide her to the couch, motioning for her to sit down. She followed him reluctantly and sat down next to him. He put the cell phone on the coffee table.

"Lean back," he softly instructed her.

"What, do I need to close my eyes too or something?"

"No."

"Then what's this about?" she asked.

"This is about taking a breath. You've been running around like a madwoman all day—all week. I just want you to relax for five minutes. Five minutes of just us."

He leaned back against the cushion behind him, taking a deep breath. All he wanted was five minutes in silence with Joan, five minutes of her undivided attention, maybe a kiss if she felt like it. The whole week had been crazy, they'd been doing nothing other than organizing and planning and reorganizing things after work. They had fallen into bed like logs at night, if they were lucky they'd had enough energy to talk for five minutes before drifting off to sleep. Early morning intimacies were something almost forgotten.

However, Joan was not on the same page. She leaned forward with a snort. "Adam, I don't have time for relaxation! Your family is coming in tomorrow!"

"So? They're taking a hired car from the airport to stay in some fancy hotel in town."

"Listen sweetheart, I promise you we will relax on our honeymoon, okay? But right now, I still have a million things to take care of and the countdown is on. I need to call Father Ken about the counseling session on Saturday, need to check with the restaurant about the rehearsal dinner. You want things to go smoothly too, don't you?"

He sighed. Clearly, he was not gonna get her undivided attention, at least not right now. He sat erect and put his hands on his thighs with a slap. "Fine. Go do your magic. I'll just sit here and play with my lips."

She gave him a surprised, almost annoyed look. "Come on. You're not serious."

He raised his voice. "What, is it so wrong to want your attention for a few minutes? Forget five minutes, I'll negotiate, how 'bout three?"

She put one hand on top of his. "Honey, please. I can't just sit here when there's still so much to do."

He just nodded and she couldn't help but lean in for a quick kiss. When she drew back, she told him in a much softer voice, "We're gonna be married in just about a week. And then two weeks in Cabo, just us. Two glorious weeks of connubial bliss. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect, but--"

"But what? I also want our wedding to be great, something everyone will remember. Don't you want the same thing?"

For a moment he wondered what had happened that he had been insane enough to agree to a huge wedding like this. But he also knew that this was what she wanted, that this was how she had and her mother had always dreamed her wedding should be.

He drew closer to her and reconnected with her for another kiss. "Two weeks of connubial bliss in an exotic locale," he repeated with a smile. "Remind me of that often enough until the wedding and I won't whine about any of this again."

She smiled back at him. "Deal."

He watched her grab her cell phone off the table as she got up and hustled out of the room, already dialing a number, no doubt either Father Ken or the restaurant.

* * *

_**SUNDAY, APRIL 3, 2011**_

Just after evening Mass, Father Ken Mallory, Adam, Joan, her parents and the members of the wedding party (minus the children) gathered at St. Mark's for the wedding rehearsal.

The organist was also there and played the opening bars of the various musical pieces that she would play at various points during the actual ceremony. For the processional, Joan's attendants would precede her down the aisle to Pachelbel's Canon in D Major. Of course, Will would escort his daughter down the aisle to Mendelssohn's "Wedding March".

The girls decided to rehearse the processional and recessional before the kids arrived. Because they knew that once Stephanie and Zach were here, the rehearsal would focus on them.

As they walked down the aisle Joan, knowing that Lilly rarely wore dresses, reminded her that the bridesmaid's dress she would be wearing was somewhat formal and that she would need to kick the skirt lightly while walking to avoid tripping on it.

"No offense, Joan, but I wore a _habit_ for years, okay?" Lilly snarked. "Talk about Medieval! A_burhka_ would be more comfortable. I really think I'll be able to get from Point A to Point B in a glorified prom dress."

Joan laughed and conceded Lilly's point.

Joan and Adam knew almost from the beginning that they wanted one of Jamie and Susan's sons to be their ring bearer. They had all agreed that, at three, Jonah was too young to perform such a task. They had initially asked Hunter, the oldest boy, who was almost eight. Hunter was reluctant, however. He had already been ring bearer at three weddings and insisted he was "too grown up to do that again". He solemnly told Adam that, if Grace got sick, he would happily step in and assume her duties as best man. Adam, having the good grace not to smile, told Hunter that, in the event of Grace's sudden incapacitation, he would be the first person Adam would call.

Thus this very important job fell to Zach, age six, the perfect solution. He was thrilled to take the job. He had always been envious when his older brother had gotten to wear a tuxedo and be in weddings with the older people. He promised his cousin Adam that he would be the very best "ring baron" anyone had ever seen.

Finding a flower girl had been more problematic. Originally Joan's favorite Chicago cousin, Abbie's, little girl, Shane was set to do it but, at the last minute, she broke her leg and couldn't attend the wedding. Fortunately Adam's Aunt Maggie, his mother's sister, had a granddaughter who was just the right age and who was thrilled to be a flower girl. Stephanie, the daughter of Adam's cousin Craig, was also the perfect size for the flower girl's dress they'd already bought. It was a blessing that it wouldn't be necessary to replace it. She was a vision in it with those auburn curls and hazel eyes shared by all of the MacCready women. She looked like a little doll.

With perfect timing, just as they finished rehearsing the parts of the ceremony that they felt needed the most clarification, Aunt Lou and Zach entered the church.

"I just saw Maggie pull into the parking lot," Lou said correctly interpreting the reason for Adam's questioning raised eyebrows. "Steffie'll be here in just a second."

Sure enough, a minute later Aunt Maggie and Stephanie walked up the aisle to where everyone had gathered at the altar. Maggie leaned over and whispered something to the little girl.

"Yes, Mama Meg," Stephanie told her grandmother. She ran up and hugged Joan, who picked her up and returned her hug. "Thank you for my beautiful dress! I love it," she grinned.

Adam smiled and touched one of her long, red curls and said, "You're very welcome. Thanks for helping us get married. We couldn't do it without you."

Maggie smiled at Joan and Adam and told them, "Her mother was thrilled! Her doctor has put her to bed for the last trimester and she was afraid she was gonna have to buy Steffie an Easter dress out of a catalogue."

"That's right! Are you getting excited about being a big sister, Steffie," Joan asked.

"Uh huh! I'm almost six. That's too long to be the baby."

"That's not so bad," Joan replied. "I barely got to be the baby for a year. And my bratty little brother has been the baby for almost 22 years."

Helen came forward to greet Lou and Maggie. She turned to Adam and Joan and replied to Joan's remark, "Yeah and _somebody_ needs to _do_ something about that!"

"Mom," Joan moaned.

They did a second walk-through of the processional and recessional focusing on Zach and Stephanie's parts. At first they were on their very best behavior. They were so cute and well behaved that Joan said softly to Adam, "In a few years if you want to give me a couple of those, I won't say no."

Adam smiled and wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind while they watched the kids rehearse their parts. "Until then…," he whispered, "…practice, practice, practice." He kissed her cheek as she smiled and blushed slightly at his words.

After about a half hour or so, both of the kids became really cranky. Since they were both coming to the rehearsal dinner, neither child had eaten. Fortunately, Aunt Lou had a small box of Cheerios from the hotel breakfast buffet in her purse. She gave each child a handful of cereal to tide them over until dinner. And, since he begged, she also let Zach use two Cheerios on the pillow he was carrying to take the place of the rings until tomorrow so he could "'hearse better". Unfortunately a few minutes later, when the boredom became too much for him, he bent down and slurped both of the oat 'rings' off of the pillow.

In addition to his hunger pangs, Zach also had a pretty typical case of ants in the pants. After some whining he stood up straight and tried to behave himself. This may have been due to the glare his father had fixed on him. Whatever the reason, it didn't last. A few minutes later, good behavior forgotten, he reached over and gave Steffie's hair a yank. Since she thankfully wasn't a crier, Stephanie hauled off and punched him in the stomach. A small melee ensued. With a worried smile Sue leaned over and, indicating her son, whispered to Joan, "Maybe you don't really want him to give you one of_ those_!_"_

Jamie assured Adam that Zach would be ready to go at 2:00 the following Saturday. With a full belly and a good night's sleep, he'd be a different boy. No one worried much. After all wasn't that what rehearsals were for?

* * *

The rehearsal dinner was insanity. Twenty four people converged on Blu, one of Arcadia's finest restaurants. Aunt Lou had insisted on reserving the entire room for the occasion. Will Girardi has insisted on splitting the ticket with her 50/50.

The meal was great. The kids were a bit loud, but not too antsy. It was an evening of good fun and warm company. Many pictures, many conversations. Father Ken made a point of speaking with everyone he hadn't met before that day. He wanted to get a sense of Adam's family mainly. He found Louisa both formidable and very charming.

* * *

_**MONDAY, APRIL 4, 2011**_

What should she wear to work? Something smart? Something a little more comfortable? Did she have any meetings today? Joan stood in front of the wardrobe and her eyes scanned the contents, trying to decide on an outfit that suited her mood.

She heard Adam's voice from the bathroom, but couldn't make out what he said. She closed the wardrobe door and went to where he stood at the sink, shaving.

"Jane, you think I should cut my hair?" he reiterated.

"What? Why?" She asked, peeking over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror.

"For the wedding. It's a little shaggy."

"Oh... I don't know, sweetie," she looked lustfully at him. "I kinda like it all thick and wavy, just the way it is."

He smiled back at her in the mirror. "Then I won't touch it."

"Great. Then, I'll get to enjoy touching it," she grinned at him and disappeared around the door frame.

* * *

After dinner that night, Joan sat opposite Adam at the kitchen table, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. She was a little bugged that he didn't seem to be getting anywhere with his vows. She thought maybe a brainstorming session was in order. "Baby, I totally love that we're writing our own vows, but I don't want it to be painful for you. Maybe if we just talk about your ideas..."

"They all seem so lame."

"Lame how?"

"I don't know, corny or something."

"Adam, nothing you could say would be cornier than traditional vows. You can do this."

"It just... seems so..."

"What?"

"Huge!"

She reached out and took his hand. "Sweetie, it's just you and me up there. Just tell me you love me in that inimitable way of yours. You'll be fine."

He smiled at her, took a breath. "I will," he sighed, trying hard to believe it. "You know, in that stuff of my mom's that I found when you moved in, in one of her letters she mentioned how she wished she and Dad had written their own vows. Maybe this way I can sort of do it for her. I mean, a little."

She smiled at him. Yes, she knew what he meant. "You can do anything you want with it, you know. You've got Father Ken's guidelines, what parts he says. Other than that, anything goes. It can be a poem, something funny, something romantic. Whatever you feel."

He looked uncertain. She toyed with his slender fingers. "I know you're gonna write something genius. I'm not a bit worried."

He looked up at the mischievous glint in her eye and grinned at her. He pulled her hand to him and kissed her fingers. "I am going to write something so beautiful that you'll have to take me right there on the altar."

"Oooh," she chuckled and slapped his hand playfully. "You are such a naughty boy!"

"That's why you're marrying me, isn't it?"

Her gaze on him was seductive. "Maybe."

* * *

_**TUESDAY, APRIL 5, 2011**_

Grace ambled down the Girardi driveway. With all of the preparations for the wedding and bachelor parties, Grace hadn't seen Karen in a couple of days. Now, with both the bachelor and bachelorette parties tonight, they probably wouldn't get to see each other until late tomorrow or Thursday. She knew that Karen had attended a lingerie shower that Joan's co-workers had thrown for her.

Just as Grace reached the back door she heard a car door slam and looked up in time to see Luke walking through the hedge.

"Hey," she grinned, happy to see him. "I thought you weren't coming until Friday."

"That was the plan. I was gonna stop in Baltimore Friday and pick up Grandpa Fred at the airport. But Mom sounded kind of swamped on the phone. So I got a little ahead on my studying and got another TA to take my classes for the rest of the week."

"Aw, aren't you a good son? I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with Rove's bachelor party tonight," Grace said sarcastically.

"Is_ that_ tonight," Luke feigned surprise. "I completely forgot."

Laughing, Luke and Grace entered the back door of the Girardi house. They found Joan and Karen sitting at the kitchen table. Also laughing. Stacked on the table were piles and piles of naughty lingerie: satin thongs, lace teddies, filmy stockings and garter belts, tiny silk panties, etc.

Joan stood up to hug her brother, happy he'd been able to get home early.

"What's funny," Luke asked.

"Oh," Karen grinned, "Joan had a lingerie shower at her office today." She indicated the gifts on the table. Luke glanced down and, blushing, didn't look again. Karen continued, "Adam was complaining last night that no one was throwing a shower with gifts just for him…"

Grace's face assumed an expression of disgust, "Are you _kidding_ me? Rove actually sat there and maintained that all this…," here she grabbed a handful of the gossamer garments, shaking them in the air to illustrate her point. "…_butt floss_ is for _Joan_? This isn't practical, everyday underwear. It's _butt floss_!"

Joan, still laughing, tried to defend her fiancé. "Come on! I can kind of see his point. Everybody likes to get presents. Besides, he's a guy. He probably doesn't know about lingerie showers."

"You're giving him waaay too little credit, Girardi! He's a big boy, and he's_ not _stupid. Besides, I think everyone knows that 'lingerie shower' is synonymous with butt floss."

At this point Joan was roaring and Karen and Luke, sniggering, just sat back to enjoy the show. Grace continued her tirade, "I mean clearly every bit of this butt floss is more for him than for you…"

Karen, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes said, "Grace, sweetie, is there anything I can do to persuade you to stop saying 'butt floss'?"

"Okay, fine!" Grace replied. She grabbed the pepper mill from off of the table. "Let's ask this totally unbiased stranger from off the street." Grace began speaking into the pepper mill as if it were a microphone. She turned to Luke. "Excuse me, sir? We're conducting a survey. Can I ask you a couple of questions, please?"

Luke began scratching his belly under his shirt and speaking in the voice of a stereotypical ignorant bumpkin, "Yuh huh," he replied.

Happy to see him playing along, Grace addressed him, "Can you tell me the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear the term 'lingerie shower'?"

Luke leaned into the 'microphone' and said, "Buuutt flawse…" He then grabbed the pepper mill out of Grace's hand and yelled into it, "Hey, Mama!! Baba Booey. Baba Booey."

The four friends laughed and had a nice, relaxed visit until it was time for them to go get ready for the bachelor and bachelorette parties.

* * *

Brody was late. Again. He'd been doing that a lot lately. He swore to Adam that there was nothing going on. He was just overscheduled. When he walked into the party at The Local and saw everyone gathered around the small stage watching two belly dancers, he couldn't believe it.

He approached Grace, with a befuddled look on his face. "Belly dancers? Are you kidding me? Tell me this is the warm-up act."

"What's wrong with belly dancers?" Grace asked him.

"What's wrong with strippers?"

"I told you, Rove didn't wanna go to a strip club."

"Yeah, because you're his 'Best Man'," Brody said adding air quotes.

At a small table near the stage Adam's cousin Jamie sipped his beer and alternated between enjoying the show and wondering about the apparent friction between Grace and Brody. Before long, he was joined by Kevin Girardi.

"Hey, man! Good to see you," Kevin greeted Jamie. The two men shook hands. While Jamie moved a chair away from the table to make more room for the wheelchair, Kevin waved to Adam.

Jamie started to remove another chair when Kevin told him, "Leave it. Luke's gonna be here in a minute. He's parking the car."

"Great! He made it, after all. Your mom told us he might not get here 'til Friday night," Jamie said.

"Yeah," Kevin smiled. "I think he decided to move his schedule around when he heard the bachelor party was tonight."

"It'll be good to see him again," Jamie said. "Hey Kevin, thanks for staying with Jonah and Hunter the other night. I thought Mom could do it, but she needed to bring Zach to the rehearsal."

"Not a problem. It was easy. Jonah slept the whole time and Hunter enjoyed racing and popping wheelies in the chair with me."

Luke entered and shook hands with Jamie. Before taking his seat, he went to speak with Adam and Grace. When he returned, Kevin and Jamie were talking.

"What's going on there," Kevin asked, pointing at Grace and Brody.

"Oh, Adam just wanted a low-key, uneventful bachelor party. And that's pretty much what Grace had cooked up. That's the only reason he agreed to have one. But _this_ joker," Jamie jerked his thumb in Brody's direction, "doesn't seem like he'll be satisfied unless we all spend a night or two in jail."

Sitting down Luke, hearing this last part of the conversation, laughed. "Well, we don't have worry about that at least," he said.

"How so?" Jamie asked.

Kevin chuckled, "Right now Dad is sitting at the Sheriff's Department with a thermos of coffee and his book, listening to the incoming calls from dispatch. If anything over here gets out of hand, he'll come fix it before there's any real trouble."

Adam glanced around to where he knew Grace was standing and saw her talking to his buddy. He slid off his stool and approached, "Hey, Brody, man, I was worried you weren't gonna make it."

"I'm here. What's with the entertainment?"

"Belly dancers are cool," Adam told him. "Definitely fun to look at." He glanced at the stage and smiled.

Brody snickered at him. "Come on, man, this is your bachelor party, your last chance to look at strange women naked without getting bitch-slapped for it. Give me two seconds, I know just who to call."

"Wait, no!" Adam tried to stop him, but Brody had already pushed a speed dial button on his cell and walked away from him to a corner. "Joan's not gonna like this."

"That's why you didn't want strippers?" Grace asked. "Because Girardi wouldn't like it?"

"What are you gonna call her after Saturday, Grace?"

"Stay on topic, dude. You know it's totally common to have strippers at a bachelor party, right?"

"Yeah, I know it's common. Maybe that's why I didn't want it." Adam walked back to his stool and sat down, taking swig from his beer.

Brody returned, with a huge smile on his face. "OK, Veronica's gonna be here in ten minutes. You'll love her. She's great."

"Great," Adam and Grace groaned in unison.

Grace shook her head and glared at Brody as she passed him, "Nice goin', dude."

"What?" he said as she passed, "It's a freakin' bachelor party. Strippers are normal," Brody pointed out. "If you'd relax for two seconds, you might enjoy it too, Grace." He turned toward Adam, incredulous that anyone would protest.

"Belly dancers do the same stuff basically, just... with more clothes on," Adam said. "It's kind of mysterious and cool."

Brody laughed. "Adam, man, it's OK that your best friend is a girl and all, but this is a _bachelor party_. Even though she's your Best Man, you shoulda let one of the guys handle this. Come on, I know you wanna see a little tits and ass."

"Brody, I like tits and ass as much as the next guy, but I just don't wanna do this," Adam said. "Can you just call the girl back and tell her not to come?"

"She's gonna be here any minute. Just sit down and have a drink." He pushed Adam back onto his stool and patted his shoulder. "I've got an extra special surprise in store for the Man of the Hour."

Brody headed for the bar to get himself a drink.

Grace glanced over and noticed that Adam was alone and not looking terribly happy. She rejoined him at his table near the stage. He looked at her helplessly. "What do I do?"

"Sit back and enjoy the show," she shrugged. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Brody hugging a woman near the door. "Here comes Brody and his bimbo." She walked away in disgust as Brody led the girl over to Adam.

"This is Veronica," Brody said. "Veronica, meet Adam."

"Oh, he's cute," Veronica said. Adam looked down quickly. "And he's blushing. I love a man who blushes."

She had a bit of a Virginia twang to her voice. It almost reminded Adam of Helen Girardi's soft Southern accent. And that kinda freaked him out. He stood and took a step toward the men's room. "I, uh, I'll be right back."

Brody smiled at Veronica. "He's a little shy."

"That's adorable."

"Yeah, why don't you go get set up, Sugar? We'll be right back."

Brody followed Adam into the restroom. "Hey, man, come on! What's going on here? I know you're heterosexual, so what's the problem?"

"The problem—" He really didn't know how to say it so that Brody wouldn't think he was a complete pussy, so he just spit it out, "The problem is I don't know how to act with someone like that. I don't do porn. I don't need to. I've got this freakin' photographic memory that keeps Jane in my mind's eye all the time. All I gotta do is think about her and I've got a boner man."

Brody laughed.

"No, man, I am totally serious. I know how to act with her, I know how to be. But looking at some strange woman naked right in front of me..." he shook his head, not knowing what more he could say to make Brody understand.

Brody was unperturbed. "Oh, you're gonna do a lot more than look, my son. This is rite of passage night for you. So if you gotta piss, do it now."

A few minutes later, Brody reappeared with Adam in tow, looking no less uncomfortable. Veronica put on quite a show. She brought her own music and did her full act. She got a tremendous amount of tips and drooling applause.

Adam watched. She was very good at what she did, no denying that. And it was hot, no way around that either. But he still felt like a fish out of water.

That feeling only got worse after Veronica took a break and Brody bought her a drink. What happened next was more than Adam was prepared for.

She started her music again and approached Adam, wearing only a tiny thong and knee boots and she lowered herself onto his lap.

Kevin and Jamie continued to monitor the ongoing tussle between Brody, Adam and Grace. Kevin, sizing up Brody, said to Jamie, "You know, he pretty much reminds me of every one of my high school buddies. Don't get me wrong, they were good guys. Great."

"I hear ya. I've palled around with a Brody or two in my day. Really great guys. The best! And so much _fun_," Jamie agreed.

"Exactly, those guys were some of my best friends. And yet I'm sitting here thanking God my sister isn't marrying one of 'em," Kevin chuckled.

"Word," Jamie said. They both laughed and clinked beer bottles.

Watching the situation develop with Veronica, Jamie shook his head. "I'm wondering if I should step in and lend Adam a hand, but then I think if my cousin can't defend himself against a 95-lb. stripper, he needs way more help than I can give him. And he probably shouldn't be getting married."

Only Kevin heard Jamie because Luke had been gaping at Veronica ever since she had started her performance.

Laughing, Kevin said to Jamie, "Oh, come on. Give the guy a break. Sure she'd probably only weigh 95-lbs normally. But I'm guessing those implants push her up to almost 125."

"Thirty pounds worth of implants? Ya think so," Jamie asked.

Luke, still mesmerized by the entertainment, responded to Jamie, "Depends what they're made out of."

"Oh, boy," Kevin sighed, shaking his head at his younger brother's innate geekiness.

Luke, warming to his topic, turned his attention from Adam's struggle with Veronica long enough to explain himself. "What? It's true. They could be saline, they could be silicone, they could be a combination of the two. See, the relative densities of the two substances determine…" And the whole time he was talking, Luke was holding his cupped hands in the air as if he were holding a giant pair of cantaloupes.

"Dude!" Kevin interrupted, "Just _stop_, okay?"

Adam's hands went up like he was being robbed as Veronica writhed and undulated on him to the erotic rhythm of the dance music. Not knowing what else to do, Adam locked his arms awkwardly around the back of the chair to keep from touching her.

"Buddy," Brody said. "You gotta loosen up!"

"I—I, uh, I can't," Adam stuttered. He stood so Veronica slipped off his lap. "I'm sorry," he told her. "You're really beautiful. But I'm just not into this. Only my fiancée touches me like that."

"Aww, you're sweet." She twisted some of his dark hair between her fingers. "But don't think of it like that. It's just a little bit of fun."

"Henry!" he called, looking around desperately for some sign of his partner. He spotted him chatting up one of the belly dancers. "Henry, get over here! Free lap dance." Henry was in the chair in a matter of seconds. "OK, this is Veronica. Enjoy."

He started to walk away but she grabbed his shoulder. "I came for you though, groomy." She went for his hair again.

"Please, don't." He ducked away from her. He left quickly to join Grace at a table.

By the time Luke's attention had returned to the activity between Adam and the stripper, Joan's fiancé had extricated himself from the situation and Henry was receiving the private dance intended for Adam. Luke's face fell.

"Easy, big fella," his brother patted him on the back. "I'm sure they have strip clubs in Boston. I'll drive up in a couple of months. We'll go out and you can go wild. Without Adam and your ex-girlfriend being there to see it."

Recognizing the wisdom of Kevin's plan, Luke nodded. "Fine. But if I don't see you up there by Memorial Day I'm gonna start nagging."

"And whining," Kevin smirked. "I'm sure there would be a fair amount of whining."

"Dude, you look like you're gonna puke," Grace told Adam.

He rubbed his face with both hands. "Feels like I might."

She looked at him, flushed and a little sweaty. "Too much to drink?"

"I had two beers."

"Did you eat?'

"A few bites."

"Want anything now?"

"Water."

She got up to go to the bar for him. She returned with a Belhaven, his favorite Scottish ale.

"I only wanted water, Grace," he said quickly.

"It's fine, dude. You don't have to abstain on my account. This is your bachelor party. You're supposed to have fun. I'm sorry I kinda wrecked it for you."

"You didn't wreck anything."

"I should've let Brody get you a stripper from the beginning. Men don't wanna see belly dancers, they want the full monty, or whatever you call it when it's a naked chick."

He laughed at her and took a long swallow of his ale as he looked behind him to see Henry in ecstasy with Veronica riding his lap. "He looks like he's enjoying himself," he said with a chuckle.

"There's a slight difference between enjoying yourself and having an orgasm in a public place."

"Yeah. And now I have to pay her more because Henry won't let her go," Brody said from behind Adam before he moved to sit between the two friends.

"Sorry," Adam mumbled.

"You're totally pussy whipped, man. If this was a year ago, you'd be all over her."

Adam nodded. Brody was probably right about that. The time right before he and Joan found each other again was an incredibly lonely one for him. "But it's not a year ago," he said. "And as sexy as she is, she can't hold a candle to what I have waiting for me at home. You'll just have to trust me on that one, buddy." He slapped Brody's shoulder playfully.

"Yeah, wait 'til Joan finds out about this. Hears about how her boy didn't enjoy his party." Brody turned to look at Henry. "Hey, don't touch that!" he yelled. "It's twenty bucks extra." He ran over to stop Henry's roaming hands before he broke the bank.

Grace let out a chuckle. "Does he really think Joan would be mad at you for _not_ taking a lap dance?"

He shrugged. "Oh, he's totally gonna tell her. And I can't wait to hear what she says to him because she's totally gonna tell_ me_."

"Yeah, then maybe_ she'll_ give you a special dance. She's certainly got the butt floss for it now," Grace said, making Adam's jaw drop.

* * *

"Come on, the strippers are waiting." Lydia pulled on Joan's hand as Lilly grabbed the car keys off the hook by the door.

Helen had been hosting a rather low-key bachelorette party for Joan and about 12 of her friends, including her four attendants. It was just food, opening playfully obscene gifts and a few party games. Not terribly exciting. At some point, another idea was floated. Helen entered the room with a fresh pitcher of mojitos just in time to hear about it. "Wait a minute. Strippers?" Helen asked.

Joan rolled her eyes. "It's not that big a deal, Mom."

"I'm not worried about the strippers. I'm worried about where the strippers are."

"At a bar downtown," Joan said. Helen looked seriously at her daughter, who protested, "It's really not that big of a deal. Lilly's been there before."

"And what's this bar called?"

"The Joint," Lilly said automatically, then she winced.

"No, I'm not letting you girls go to a bar called The Joint."

"Come on, Mom," Joan whined. "It's not like it's illegal for us to go there."

"You guys have already been drinking tonight—"

"I haven't," Lilly chimed in raising her hand.

"OK, so you're planning not to have a drink tonight?"

Lilly's face fell. "You got a point there."

"So what do you expect us to do?"

"I don't know, but I really don't feel comfortable with you going to that area of downtown."

"Actually... I may have an idea," Lilly said. They all looked at her. "I know someone who knows someone," she clarified. "Helen, would you mind if we brought the entertainment here?"

"You... know someone?" Helen asked skeptically. "How do you know how to get a stripper?"

"My friend Cassie at work dates this guy who's an actor, but he makes a living working for Stripper-Gram. If he's available, he'll be here."

"Is he clean?" Helen whispered.

"How 'bout is he _hot_?" Joan interjected.

"You'll see," Lilly smiled as she stepped away to make the call.

"While we wait for whatever Lilly's surprise entertainment is," Lydia began. "I have something for Joan. But there's a big part in the freezer."

"I'll get it," Helen quickly volunteered.

While she was gone, Lydia pulled out a box of pasta from her bag and handed it to Joan.

"Macaroni?" Joan asked.

Lydia just smiled. "Look closer."

"Oh, my God! It's penis-shaped macaroni!" Joan laughed and showed Karen the box.

"Oh, is that what they look like?" Karen giggled.

Joan nodded. "Usually bigger. Not always. But usually."

Helen walked into the room and dropped a large Tupperware box on Joan's lap and headed back to the kitchen.

Joan looked after her mother and opened the box. "Oh, man. Lydia! What is it with you and penises?" She picked up one of the frozen bananas that were in the box and showed it to everyone. Like the others, it was triple dipped in chocolate at the tip so it looked like a penis, and it was covered in nuts. "There's one for each of us. Wait, there's a couple without nuts… poor guys."

"Well, I'm allergic to nuts," Lydia said. The girls all giggled.

"I'm not a fan of nuts either," Karen said.

"This we know." Joan handed Karen and Lydia nut-less bananas.

"Why don't you show us how to eat these, Joan?" Lilly suggested.

Joan just smiled and took the banana into her mouth. She moaned slightly as she licked at it.

"Anybody need anythi—," Helen asked as she entered the room... just in time to see her daughter's obscene gesture with the banana. She walked right back out of the room again.

Joan laughed with the banana still in her mouth. "Oops," she said. "I broke the tip off."

"Poor Adam," Lilly said. "Speaking of Adam, which is he? Tiny elbow pasta or big banana?"

Joan set down her broken banana and smiled slyly. "Well, I'm Italian so I love tiny elbow pasta, but Adam's got a nice big banana."

Helen walked in once again, this time with more chips and dip... just in time to hear about Adam's big banana. "I'll be in the kitchen for the rest of the night," she said. She plopped the snacks on the table and she was gone.

Wisely, and with great discretion, Sue refrained from comparing notes with Joan regarding the relative sizes of the men in their family. She just smiled a Mona Lisa smile.

The doorbell rang and everyone looked at each other in anticipation.

"I'll get it," Lilly and Sue said simultaneously, and raced each other toward the door.

"Package for Joan Girardi," the man at the door said.

"In here!" she yelled. The muscular delivery man was ushered into the living room between Sue and Lilly and led to Joan.

He gave them a big, cheesy but charming grin and put the box he was carrying on his shoulder down. Then he turned and bent over to get his CD player out, deliberately giving the girls a long look at his bubblelicious booty before he turned the dance music on. And he took his hat off and put it on Joan's head.

"I hear you're getting married. Congratulations," he said as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Joan gaped when she caught sight of his abs. "You're welcome," she said.

* * *

"Karen!" Joan yelled into the back yard. She found her kneeling by the bushes throwing up. Joan didn't seem to mind that her maid of honor was sick, seemed like they all had been at some point that night.

"What's wrong?" Karen asked when she saw Joan's desperate look.

"Lilly shoved my phone down the stripper's G String. I apparently have to go in and get it."

"You're not saying you want me to get it, are you? Cuz that ain't happening." She made a face.

"No!" Joan laughed, "I know better than that. Just let me borrow yours." Joan held her hand out for the phone. "Mom and Dad don't have a land line anymore."

Karen pulled the phone out of her pocket and handed it to Joan, but didn't let go of it. "Wait. Why do you need it?"

"Oh, I just..." Joan trailed off, pointing vaguely behind her.

Karen smiled slightly and nodded, pulling the phone back. "You're not calling Adam. You agreed, for one night, you guys would sever the umbilical chord."

"I know, I... Karen, come on, give me the damn phone."

Karen giggled and stuck it in her shirt. "Take it."

* * *

"Rove," Grace said, shaking Adam's shoulder gently. "Come on, dude, get up. We gotta go."

Adam slowly lifted his head off the sticky table. "What happened?" he mumbled.

"You passed out," she said simply. "Come on, I'll take you home."

"How much did I drink last night?"

"It's still night, and not much. But you're a lightweight, you still can't drive. You're obviously too groggy."

He nodded and tried to follow her. "I think my foot's asleep."

"No it's not. Look down."

He did and saw, to his shock, an old timey ball and chain. He looked back up at Grace.

"Brody. Right after you went out."

He leaned down to pull at the lock, but it didn't budge. "Where is he?" He looked around the bar, everyone was gone. "Where is everybody?"

"Brody took off. Then the hooker went home. After that Henry lost interest, and the will to live. And everyone else left after they figured out you were down for the count. I guess the party just isn't as much fun when the guest of honor is unconscious."

"Yeah," he mumbled. He felt a little like he ruined it all, he certainly didn't have much fun. "Where's the key?"

"Key?"

"Yeah. I need to unlock it."

"He didn't leave a key."

Adam groaned. "Of course not. Damn! I just sprained the left one last week. Joan's gonna lose it!"

Grace shook her head ruefully, "Yeah, she might. Have you noticed that when something goes wrong with one of your ankles, Brody is always nearby?"

"So what am I gonna do with a jail weight on my foot?" he asked.

"Get an orange jumpsuit? Wear your pants around your knees? Try to blend in."

* * *

Joan's obnoxious cell phone ring woke her up early in the morning, she lifted her head slightly but fell back to the pillow with a loud groan. She'd forgotten how much being hung-over sucked.

She slowly sat up and retrieved her phone. "What?" she mumbled when she finally answered it.

"Jane?" Adam's worried voice came from the other side. "Where are you?"

"What?" She looked around, suddenly realizing she wasn't at home. She was in her old room. "Uh, my parents' house?"

"Why didn't you come home last night?"

"I don't know. I guess the party got a little crazy. I got pretty drunk. How was your party?"

"All right."

"Just all right?"

"Never mind that. I still don't get why someone didn't drive you home."

"Lilly was supposed to drive me home." Looking around she noticed that her ride home was crashed on an air mattress five feet away. "Oh."

"What?"

"My designated driver is passed out on my floor."

"Oh. All right," he said, calming down finally. "I just wish you would have called, I was worried."

"Sorry. I probably would have if I could. I… kinda lost track of my cell phone. I don't really remember much."

"O...kay," he said gently. "But you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Adam," she told him, annoyed at him but happy at the same time.

He nodded without thinking about it. "So what time should I come get you?"

"Um… can I call you back later? I really can't think numbers right now. I need some more sleep."

"Oh, sure. Just remember to drink a lot of water and take some aspirin when you get up."

"I will. I'll call you later, OK?"

"OK, bye."

"Bye," she mumbled and flipped her phone closed.

When Joan woke up for good a couple of hours later and was finally able to move, she rose and looked for Lilly, but the air mattress was empty. She shuffled downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water and aspirin as she promised Adam she would.

"Morning, Sweetie," Helen said in her normal cheery voice from where she sat at the kitchen table.

Joan flinched and turned to look at her mother. "Morning," she mumbled.

Helen smiled. "Hang over?"

"Mom, last night did we make you uncomfortable?"

"Well, I wasn't really ready to see my little girl all grown up and fellatin' a banana," her mother told her in that gentle Southern accent of hers.

Joan blinked. "Did I really do that?" She shook her head, deciding she didn't want to know after all. "I have to call Adam. Tell him to come pick me up."

"Well, I actually thought about that. You already spent last night and you're gonna spend Friday night here, too. Maybe you should just stay the next two nights, too."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. Because it's kind of romantic."

"You're losin' it, Mom. How is staying away from Adam romantic?"

"Well, in my day, people didn't very often live together before they were married—"

"Mom!" Joan groaned.

"Just hear me out. I'm not making judgments. I'm just sayin', if you really wanted to spice things up, you two could spend the next few nights apart. Then by the time you see each other at the ceremony…"

"Ah," Joan nodded, finally understanding, in her muddy-headed condition what her mother was getting at. "Gotcha. I'll have to think about this a little more after I've had some tea and toast or something."

"Sit down, I'll make you some."

She plopped gratefully in a chair at the table. "Thanks, Mom."

Helen made a cup of hot tea for each of them and toast for Joan. She put them on the table but Joan just sat there with her head on her arms, still barely conscious. Finally, she dragged her head up, sweetened her tea and buttered her toast very gingerly. She imbibed very carefully as her mom sat across from her and watched.

When Joan finally looked up at Helen, she saw tears in her mother's eyes. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not."

"You are."

"OK, I am a little. It's just hard for me to believe my baby girl is getting married three days from now."

"After everything we've been through to plan this thing, it's hard to believe? Wow. You have really selective memory."

Helen laughed through her tears. A few minutes passed between them in silence as they both contemplated the big event. "So, will you stay?" Helen finally asked.

"Yeah, I guess. Adam's not gonna be happy."

"He will be on your honeymoon."

"Um... Wait, so you were wicked uncomfortable with the naughty party games last night? But you're totally OK with giving tips on how to enhance the honeymoon sex?"

"That's different."

"You were young once, weren't you? You got married. Don't tell me your bachelorette party was all prim and strait-laced."

Helen had to smile at the recollection. She looked down and studied the place mat on the table. "No, it was… I think I got pretty drunk."

Joan smirked, though the movement made her head hurt more. "Thanks for the honesty, although... that's not really an image I want in my head."

"Yeah, kinda like you with that banana. Not something a mom really wants to watch."

"Sorry."

"Forget it. I'm going to. Someday. What I'm trying to say is, smutty games are one thing, your wedding night is different. It should be as special as possible. You guys are together every night. Don't you think it would shake things up if he had to be without you for the last few days before you're married?"

"Actually, Mom, believe it or not, _I'm_ the bigger horndog of the two of us," Joan smiled at her. And watched her cringe. "It's a little weird, but you might actually be right. I should call him. Can you give me a few minutes?"

Helen swallowed back her momentary wiggins. "Sure, honey," she said as she left to give Joan some privacy.

She pushed a button and held the phone to her ear. "Hey, can you come pick me up?" she asked before Adam even greeted her.

"Uh, sure," he said. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"Fine," she said simply. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

Adam heard Joan's phone click off and began shuffling toward the door, the ball and chain still around his ankle. He had a bit of trouble driving because of his literally lead foot. He tried to keep the ball in the passenger floor board but every time he switched from the gas to the break, he pulled it over the hump into the driver's side floor. And he would have to keep kicking it back with his foot until he reached a stop sign and could pause and put it back on the passenger side.

His erratic driving did not go unnoticed. He was startled by the_ whoop-whoop_ of a patrol car's alert system and flashing blue lights in his rearview mirror. Just two blocks from the Girardi house, he was pulled over by Arcadia's finest.

"Oh, shit," he murmured as he rolled to a stop on the side of the road and watched a middle-aged deputy exit his cruiser. He rolled down his window slowly.

"Sir, do you realize how fast you were going?" he asked as he glanced in the window at Adam.

"Oh, sorry. I'm just trying to--" he froze when he saw the patrolman glance into the car and watched his eyes fall on his ankle.

"Can you step out of the car, sir?"

Adam obeyed the officer. "There's a simple explanation for this," he said quickly.

"Uh huh, sure." He reached behind him for… handcuffs?

"There is," Adam said quickly. "I'm getting married in a few days and my bachelor party was last night."

Suddenly, the deputy was laughing. "Old ball and chain gag, huh? They did that in my day, too."

"Yeah. And my buddy didn't give me a key. But I'm working on a solution. I just really need to get to my fiancée's parent's house right now."

"I'm sure they'll get a chuckle out of it."

Adam nodded sarcastically. "Can I go?"

"Sure, just be careful. And good luck."

He nodded and got back into his car, watching through his rearview mirror as the deputy did the same and pulled away. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued on his way to the Girardi's.

He pulled into their driveway a few minutes later and called Joan's cell phone. "Hey, I'm in the driveway."

"OK," she said. "The front door's open."

"I, uh, I can't come in."

She glanced around for her mother. "Are you naked?" she whispered.

"No, Jane. Just come out, it's easier to explain in person."

"Alright, whatever." They hung up. "Mom, Adam's outside, I'm gonna meet him."

"Why doesn't he come in?"

Joan shrugged. "I think he's naked."

Helen just shook her head as her daughter left the house.

She went to the car and got into the seat next to Adam. "You aren't naked," she quickly observed.

"No, but the guys played a little joke on me." He motioned to his ankle.

"Oh, wow. You want me to drive?"

"How much did you drink last night?" he asked with a smile.

"Never mind."

They drove the rest of the way home, mostly in silence. It wasn't a comfortable trip for either of them by any means, but it was a much safer one than Adam's solo drive over because, while he drove, Joan held his ball in the palm of her left hand. Each time that he applied the breaks, she had to lean in closer. Each time he stopped the car, she was pulled right up against him, head against his side. After several blocks of this Joan, seeing the humor of the situation, grinned and grasped the round, iron weight firmly. She brusquely instructed him to turn his head and cough. Relieved that she wasn't angry or upset about the situation, Adam laughed, feeling much of the tension of the morning and the previous night leave him.

When they got to their house, she ran inside and up to their bedroom. He slowly followed her inside and sat on the couch to wait for her. He didn't want to make too many unnecessary trips up and down the stairs while his ankle was still encased in iron.

A few minutes later she came back down the stairs. With a suitcase. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Um, I'm gonna stay at my folks' house for a few days."

He shook his head slightly. "Why?"

"Because... there's a lot to do and we're kind of driving each other crazy right now anyway with the stress of everything. And also because... well... you remember when we almost eloped, how we waited until what we thought was gonna be our wedding night?"

"Yeah," he said, totally lost.

"And that whole week when I went back on the pill?" she looked at him pointedly.

Finally, he got it. He smiled. "You wanna torture me for a few days. Get me all worked up for our wedding night." His smile grew into a wide grin. "That's it, right?" He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her onto the sofa with him.

"That is exactly it," she giggled.

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime, here in this lonely house all by myself?"

"You spent almost two weeks alone in LA last December. Figure it out." She poked him teasingly in the ribs, causing him to let go of her and jump back. A grin crept onto her face. "Don't you have a travel pussy stashed away someplace from the old days?"

"A what?" he asked, completely oblivious.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you don't know what that is!"

He lifted his arms innocently. "Honestly, I have no idea what you're talking about, but you're putting funny images in my head."

"They're probably not that far off. It's exactly what it sounds like. They can be plastic that you fill with water or sculpted after a real one."

"You're kidding." He looked perplexed for a moment, then he cocked his head at her quizzically. "Wait, how would _you_ know about that?"

She smirked at him. "Relax, I normally wouldn't, but my gutter-brained friend Lydia told me about it. She went to Night Dreams for bachelorette party supplies and she thought it was hilarious, the kinky stuff people come up with out of necessity."

"Necessity, huh? Why would _I_ ever need it?"

She smiled a broad smile and pointed at Adam. "You won't." Her expression became more serious. "So, would you be okay if I left?"

"Do I even get to have any say in it?"

"Honey, I know you don't want me to leave. But I really think it's for the best. Besides, I bet you still haven't finished your vows, have you?"

He put his hands up. "Guilty."

"OK, now, I'm getting a little worried."

"Don't, OK? I'm good with deadlines."

"Well, now that you have the house to yourself and nothing but time on your hands, you have no excuses."

"So, I can't even see you 'til the wedding?"

"That's the idea."

"Can I call you?"

"Yeah, I think we can get away with that."

"Are you sure about this, Jane?"

"Not really… But let's give it a shot, OK?"

He pulled her to him. "I'm really gonna miss you," he whispered into her hair, then kissed her neck.

"And I won't? I don't know how I'm gonna make it through these next few days."

"Me neither. I- ooffff." His sentence was cut short when Joan kissed him and began pulling at the hem of his shirt, wanting it off. He smiled at her. "What are you doing?"

"Giving us something to remember for the next few days." She laughed a little, slipping her arms up under the shirt and around his back, pressing their bodies together. "Something to look forward to for our wedding night." She snuggled close to him and kissed his neck.

"Really?" he asked in a teasing voice. "You think I need that?"

She pulled away a little. "You're objecting to one last quickie?"

"Are you kidding?"

She smiled and kissed him on the lips again.

A little later, when Joan had recovered somewhat, she leaned up and kissed him and then laid her head back down on his chest. "Thank you," she murmured against his neck.

"My pleasure," Adam smiled gently, kissing her forehead. "Wow! That's it, huh? That's the very last premarital sex of our whole lives."

"Yep. It's the end of an era. Are you sorry to see it go?"

He grinned at her. "No way! Onward and upward, I say."

"You aren't afraid it'll change us, being together '_with_ benefit of clergy'," Joan asked him.

"What? Oh, baby, no!" Adam reassured her. "Jane, all I've ever wanted was for us to belong to each other. Now we always will."

Adam leaned his head up and gave Joan another soft, tender kiss. She was just about to deepen it when she realized she was still working under a deadline. "Hey, I've gotta run. You're still gonna meet me to see the cake tomorrow, right?"

His arms came around her waist. "I wouldn't miss it." He winced as he began to sit up. "I'm gonna have horrible rug burn on my butt," he mumbled.

She smiled and kissed his chest. "It better heal before the honeymoon. I wanna see you in that Speedo."

Joan got dressed and left. Adam smiled after her. He suddenly felt like maybe writing those vows wouldn't be such a problem after all.

* * *

Following Joan's departure, Adam felt suddenly tired. He hadn't slept very much at all the night before. It wasn't just the fact that he didn't get home 'til 4 am. He didn't sleep well without her beside him. He was sure she was safe with her mom and all her girlfriends, but he kept wondering why she didn't come home. Plus their time together had left him feeling more relaxed than he had in quite awhile. He left one more voice mail for Brody and then stretched out on the couch, pulling the chenille throw blanket over him. _Just a short nap_, he told himself…

Two and a half hours later, Adam awoke with a start. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. Shit! 3:30! He needed to get a move-on. He stood and began walking toward the staircase. After one step, however, he remembered the ball and chain still locked around his right ankle. With a sigh Adam sat back on the couch and reached for his cell phone.

Finally, he got an answer.

"Brody? Thank God! Where the fuck _are_ you?"

"Relax, dude! You'll live longer," was his friend's glib reply.

"Relax? Dude, I've been waiting all day for you to get me out of this leg iron. Where have you been? I've been calling you since 9:00 a.m. If you're not here in half an hour, I'm getting a locksmith to cut me out of the damned thing. And then YOU can pay the guy you rented it from. AND the locksmith!"

"No problemo, Buddy," was Brody's annoyingly relaxed reply. "I've got the key. I'll be there in two minutes."

In what was closer to 25 minutes, Brody finally arrived. Adam answered the door in his boxers, dragging his jeans behind his right leg. He'd discovered shortly before Brody's arrival that, in addition to not being able to get them off over the ball, he wasn't able to pull them back up because of it either. They were now stuck.

_Great_, Adam thought. _Now I'm gonna have to cut 'em off. This is my most comfortable pair of jeans, too._ Although he knew he would find all of this hilarious a few days from now when he was lying on a beach in Mexico with Joan, right now his fury at Brody was growing at a rapid pace. He had just gotten the scissors out of the kitchen drawer when he heard Brody's knock.

Brody breezed in without a care in the world. "Whoa," he exclaimed. "Dude, pull your pants up! What's with the semi nudity? I think you're well aware that I don't swing that way."

Adam glared at his friend. "Key," he snapped.

"Wait a second," Brody replied. "I have a finely honed instinct for these things. I'm almost positive that sex has recently taken place on these premises. Tell me the truth: did you bring Veronica home last night?" Brody wriggled his eyebrows up and down.

Adam rolled his eyes in disgust. He raised his voice, "KEY!"

"Not Veronica, huh? Wait! Was it one of the belly dancers?"

Adam glared.

"Was it BOTH of the belly dancers," Brody asked with a leer. Getting no help in his speculations from Adam, Brody's prurient mind ventured further down the list of female attendees at Adam's bachelor party. He gasped, "Wait! Was it Grace? It was _Grace_, wasn't it? You DOG!! You brought her back to the home team," Brody brought his hand into the air in order give Adam a high five.

Adam's voice became quiet again, but now with a dangerous edge to it, "If you must know, Joan was here earlier. Now please give me the fucking KEY!"

Brody tossed the key in his pocket to Adam. "Joan?" he said incredulously. "Well that's one way to go, I guess. I mean sure, she's hot and everything. But you're gonna be tapping that for the rest of your life. Where's the novelty?"

Resisting a brief impulse to stab Brody in the neck with the scissors, Adam cut his jeans off so that he could get to the lock.

While Brody ran off at the mouth, Adam was trying the key. He tried several times using several angles, turning the key first one way, then the other. He adjusted the lamp for better light and bent his leg so his foot sat next to his hip, trying to see what was wrong. It soon became painfully obvious that this was not the right key. And Adam was becoming angrier by the second.

At last Brody became attuned to Adam's mood. "Don't worry, Dude. I'm getting on the horn right now to the guy who rented them to me. We'll get this straightened out in no time."

Wordlessly Adam left the room. He began climbing the stairs. And each step was accompanied by the angry _THUNK_ of the craggy black ball shackled to Adam's foot.

Five minutes later Adam returned to the living room, wearing a clean pair of baggy cargo shorts, a fresh tee shirt and a pair of Birkenstock-type sandals. Brody looked very upset.

"Adam, I'm so sorry, Dude," Brody told him. "The guy said that was the only key he had. All he offered to do was refund what I paid to rent them and let me keep them an extra day 'for my trouble', he said. He said he'd sue me if they were damaged when I took them back. Can you believe that?"

Adam ignored Brody and picked up his cell. He hit a speed dial button and immediately heard, "Hogan County Sheriff's Department, how may I direct your call?" The crisp professionalism of the operator's voice made Adam feel that he was finally in competent hands.

"Will Girardi, please," Adam said.

* * *

Will chuckled when Adam explained his predicament. But while Adam was driving over, he got the head of building maintenance to gather every key they had in the building. Hopefully with all of the doors, holding cells, evidence safes, filing cabinets, belly chains and handcuffs they'd be able to find a key that would work on Adam's lock.

Will met him in the parking lot with a large zip lock bag of labeled keys. While Adam parked his car, Will borrowed the stool of the parking lot attendant. He rolled the stool up close to the driver's side door.

"I can't thank you enough for this, sir. After everything with Brody, I felt like I needed to call someone _dependable_, you know? I didn't know which locksmith to call. It's getting late in the day and we're supposed to be at the tailors first thing tomorrow," Adam said.

Will smiled, taking pity on the boy. "Don't worry. If one of these keys doesn't do the trick, the department keeps a locksmith on retainer. He'll drop everything and get over here in five minutes. Boy the old ball and chain gag. It's a classic! One of the deputies on patrol pulled over a guy just this morn-," Will stopped when he saw Adam's embarrassment. He allowed himself a small laugh.

"I'm glad you're taking this so well, Mr. Girardi. I feel so stupid! I fell asleep half-way through my third beer. When I woke up…" he gestured with his eyes toward his ankle. "I know I'm not much of a party animal, but this is just _sad_…"

"Please, Adam, call me Will."

"I'm sorry. I'll get used to that one of these days. I really appreciate it, _Will_," said Adam awkwardly. He broached another subject that was worrying him. "Luke told me last night that you stayed up, in case there was any trouble at the party. You didn't need to do that."

Will smiled. "Oh, I knew I didn't need to do it for you. But there's always at least one wild man at these things. I didn't want any of your groomsmen to miss the wedding to attend their own arraignments. Or either of Joan's brothers, for that matter." Here he leaned forward conspiratorially. "To tell you the truth, I was more worried about the girls. We get a lot more nuisance calls from the male strip clubs downtown than for all the... 'gentleman's' clubs put together."

Adam smiled, "I heard they had quite a night."

"Yeah, I think Helen got less sleep than I did. But she did manage to keep them at home. So last night was harmless."

"So nobody went to a strip joint," Adam marveled with a half-smile.

"Nope. But there was some nudity involved."

Adam swallowed. "Well, yes sir. Brody…"

Will just nodded and chuckled. "Forget it, kid. It's how these things are done. For the record, the girls had a stripper too."

"They did?"

Will nodded. "Looks like everybody got their ya-yas out."

Adam's mind jumped back to his encounter with Joan a few hours earlier. Was that it? The last hurrah with the strippers was supposed to jack up the marrying couple's desire for each other? Considering what just happened back at the house, it certainly seemed to have worked. "Yeah," he smiled shyly.

Will figured out that it was long past time for a subject change and mercifully let Adam off the hook. "Let's get you out of this."

As they tried one key after another with no success, the building maintenance chief strolled up. "Hey, Will? I found some more keys you might try… Oh! Hey, Adam!"

Adam cringed to be recognized in this situation. "Hi, Mr. DeMoss," he replied, shaking his hand.

"You two know each other?" Will asked.

Adam nodded while Mr. DeMoss was much more animated, "Oh, yeah! I've known Adam since he was born. Well, I exaggerate, but practically. At least since he was this high!" He indicated about up to his hip.

Adam groaned. It just got better and better.

Will looked at him.

"Oh, uh, my father used to work for Mr. DeMoss at the police department," Adam explained.

"Right. I forgot about that."

Suddenly, Mr. DeMoss leaned forward and looked closer at the lock. "This is a tubular pin lock," he pointed. "That older lock isn't what's keeping the clasp shut. You're gonna need a barrel key. The only ones that could possibly work are the ones like this."

"Maybe we should just find someone to cut it off," Adam suggested. His patience was just about exhausted.

Mr. DeMoss replied, "No way! It's made out of iron. Anything that would cut it would burn the hell out of your leg. We've gotta open that lock."

He rooted through the zip lock bag and fished out several keys of the type he'd described. None of them worked on the lock. Will began going through the bag searching for more barrel keys. As he did so, the maintenance chief frowned at the lock, deep in concentration.

"Looks like we might need to call that locksmith after all," Will said regretfully, the supply of possible keys swiftly dwindling.

An idea suddenly occurred to the maintenance chief. "Give me five minutes before you call the locksmith."

He returned shortly with one last barrel key. Will easily slipped it into the lock and released Adam from his confinement. Grinning, Adam gingerly rubbed his ankle as the circulation returned. "Thanks so much. You guys saved my life," he told the two older men.

"Mike, this key doesn't have a label. What lock does it go to," Will asked.

"Doesn't need a label," he grinned. "It opens the soda machine in the third floor break room. It's always taped to the back of the machine. Don't tell anyone, or nobody'll ever pay for another soft drink," he chuckled. "Great to see you, Adam! Good luck on Saturday. I'll be thinking about you."

After he left, Adam thanked Will yet again.

"You're very welcome" Will told him. "Glad everything worked out."

"What a relief! I thought I was gonna have to chew my own foot off."

Will gave Adam a genuine grin, "Hopefully it wouldn't have come to that," he said. "Uh, listen, Adam. Kevin told me your behavior with that... um, _young lady_ at the party was above reproach. I wanted you to know I appreciate it."

"You don't need to," Adam told him. "_That _doesn't interest me. Not at all."

"I know. And I appreciate that, too." He offered Adam his hand to shake. "Welcome to the family, son."

* * *

Adam knocked hesitantly on the door to the office of the church. "Uh, Father?" he asked as he opened the door and took a step in.

"Adam, come in. Please." Father Ken said, setting aside some papers that were on his desk.

He walked into the room, closing the door behind him. "I-I... wanna talk."

"That's usually what people come to me for." He motioned to the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

Adam walked over and sat down, but winced as he made contact with the seat. Stupid rug burn. "Um, actually, can I stand?" Father Ken looked confused but nodded. He rose again, this time leaning awkwardly against the chair. "I'm really— I uh— I just need someone to... confide in."

"Well, that's what I'm here for."

"Joan's with her parents until the wedding. And things are so confusing right now," Adam said, as if he hadn't heard Father Ken say anything.

"Adam," Father Ken said loudly. He looked at him. "It's normal for there to be doubts—"

"Doubts? No, no doubts." He paused. "OK, a couple doubts. But not about the wedding."

"Then what about?"

"Joan, mostly."

"You do realize Joan is part of the wedding? A fairly big part, actually."

Adam shook his head. "What I mean is, sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough. I don't know what I do to deserve her."

"Adam, I'm really not a romance counselor. Ms. Treacher down the hall would probably be more comfortable speaking with you on this subject."

Adam shook his head again. "No. I mean, she's really special. She has this incredible relationship with God..." Oops. He watched Father Ken's face for a reaction.

Father Ken simply asked, "She does? It's not something that she's ever talked about with me."

"I know. She doesn't really talk about it with anybody."

"What can you tell me about it?"

"Well, nothing, really, Father. I'm sorry. Only she can tell you. But it's a really deep connection."

"This is the type of thing I really wish someone had told me right off the bat."

"I know."

"So this worries you?"

"Not worries. I just don't know if I can ever measure up to whatever God has in store for me. It's pretty scary sometimes, ya know?"

"Yes, that, I know about."

"So what do I do?"

"Well, you just have to be the best man you can be. Do right by the people who love you and depend on you. And be open to what life has in store. You can do that."

"Yeah, I think so."

Father Ken stood and walked around his desk to put a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "Adam, you're going to be just fine."

* * *

_**THURSDAY, APRIL 7, 2011**_

Thursday morning, even though Joan was very nearly finished with the wedding preparations, she experienced an attack of nerves. "Lyddie, please come and save me, I'm going insane."

It was a desperate cry for help that filtered through the earpiece of Lydia's phone. "Joan, calm down, what's wrong?"

"Everything. This whole crazy idea of getting married, of making it this huge, ginormous celebration with thousands of guests and millions of things to prepare. Seriously, I don't know how we're gonna do it all. After Adam sprained his ankle I was left to take care of everything when I already had my head in three hundred places at once. I feel like I've forgotten stuff I should be doing but I can't figure out what."

Joan was on a roll, and Lydia knew better than to interrupt her. In as calm a voice as she could muster, she said, "Joan. Sit down. Find a comfortable place to sit and then just… breathe. Okay?"

Joan was silent at the other end for a while.

Lydia finally asked, "Are you sitting down?"

"Yes."

"Are you breathing?"

Joan breathed in and out deeply and audibly twice, then said, "I'm breathing."

"Good." Lydia smiled despite herself. "Okay, so tell me what's driving you crazy."

"This whole week is driving me crazy," Joan started again, but this time in a much calmer, less panicked voice. "Adam and I only worked Monday and Tuesday and I thought that would leave us enough time to deal with the last minute stuff. But it's already Thursday afternoon, and, oh God, there's still—I don't even wanna think about it. How am I supposed to do it all?"

"So Adam's not helping, or what?"

"Of course he's helping. He's at the tailor's right now, picking up his tux. Kinda last minute, I know, but with his ankle and all... Plus, he needed two fittings to get it right. His aunt, she's a real piece of work. She wanted it to be perfect, nothing less would do. And man, it's gonna look stunning, I'm telling you. He chose this great, silky, deep purple tie. _Not_ a bow tie. Actually, I'm not really sure if maybe Louisa chose it _for_ him."

"Wow, controlling much?"

"No, really she's great. Adam wanted to rent something, but she wouldn't hear of it. She started with this whole speech, like, 'Every gentleman must own a great tuxedo.' Adam certainly didn't argue. She can afford it. Her husband's this rich German guy."

"So did they get Grace all fixed up with a tux?" Lydia giggled.

"Yeah. All the groomsmen got decked out at the same men's store. That place was so posh, I felt like I didn't deserve to even be in it when we went the first time. And, I'm telling you, Grace looked great. They found her the most luscious fitted tux you've ever seen."

"Cool." Lydia chuckled.

"I can't believe the wedding's day after tomorrow. To be honest, I'm exhausted. Mom and I, we've been working crazy hours to make sure everything's done. I don't know how I'm gonna get through this."

"Don't worry, adrenaline will get you through it."

"I can't sleep as it is. Mom's got Adam and I separated 'til the wedding and it's just..."

"Wait a minute. Your mom has you and Adam separated?"

"Yeah. One of her more brilliant ideas. Or so _she_ thinks."

"Okay, this begs the question, _why_?"

"Why she thinks it's a brilliant idea?"

"No. Why did she separate you?"

"Well, apparently it's just another stupid tradition that the bride and the groom don't see each other before the wedding."

"And you agreed to this?"

"You don't know Mom. It would have broken her heart if I'd fought her on it. She's become a force of nature, like preparing this wedding has given her life new meaning. Besides, there's one good thing about this."

"Your wedding night will be a night to remember," Lydia stated deadpan.

"Oh, you know me too well," Joan grinned, but then her voice became more serious again. "I mean, I don't know, is that really worth it? I miss him so much right now. All I want is to be with him. Am I pathetic?"

"You're marrying the guy. I figure there must be a reason for it. Just try to focus on that."

"I know..."

"Joan, it's gonna be wonderful. Your dress is gorgeous. You've got great bridesmaids, even if our dresses are kinda ridiculous."

"I thought you liked them!"

"Well, they're better than the ones with the puffy skirts and funky sleeves."

"True," Joan laughed. "There was one dress I liked a little better, but it was sleeveless. Mom was afraid that Father Ken would freak over Lilly's tattoos. I reminded her that Father Ken had known Lilly longer than she had, but she held out for the longer sleeves. I think she was really scared _Grandpa Fred_ would freak out over Lilly's tattoos," Joan giggled at the thought that her mother, in her early fifties, was still afraid of her own father's disapproval.

And Lydia felt her relax a little. "You know, it sounds like you've got it all wrapped up pretty well. Where's the emergency?"

Joan sighed. "Well, I guess things are fairly well under control. I mean, we've had plenty of hiccups along the way. I think I told you how one of the caterers quit, and we had to scrounge up a new one. Then things went haywire with the invitations. There were shipping issues or whatever, so I actually had to go to the UPS distribution center myself to pick them up. Twice!

"The first time they couldn't find the box. Then they called and I decided to go back the next day rather than trusting them to try to ship the package again. Then when I got there, the box was damaged and I actually had to ask for some higher up guy before they would let me open it and inspect the cards. You know, I was sure all the cards were ruined and we'd never get replacements in time for everyone. But we got lucky, it was only a handful that got damaged. I called the card company and gave 'em a swift kick in the butt. They replaced those cards within a few days. That was scary!"

"Well, yeah! Why didn't you call me sooner? I could've helped."

"I should've. I don't know, I just threw down and got it all done myself. I kinda suck at delegation." She let out a long, slow breath.

"Sounds like it all worked out."

"Yeah, but I don't know, I still somehow can't wrap my head around the whole thing. I mean, we have friends and relatives coming in from all over. The guest list is huge. Almost everyone we invited RSVP'd that they'd come. When you first plan these things, you'll think, nah, there's gonna be at least a quarter of these people who won't show up. For a minute I was really scared that we wouldn't have room for everyone."

Lydia rubbed the bridge of her nose when she said, "Joan, you're always such an overachiever. I can't imagine anyone going at this in a more efficient way."

"Come on, you're just saying that. Besides, I couldn't have done it without Mom."

"Joan, you're doing great. Stop worrying, enjoy your last couple of days of freedom."

Joan had to let out a quick laugh. "Yeah, I wish. There's one thing left, though."

"What?"

"Adam's vows."

"Are you worried he's not gonna get them done in time?"

"No. I don't know. I mean, I'm glad we're writing our own vows, but... these things shouldn't be done at the last minute."

"I'm sure he's thought about it a lot. Maybe all he needs is to get them down on paper."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. After our last meeting with Father Ken, we sat down at home and brainstormed, you know. Of course I read all the bridal magazines and stuff, so I had tons of ideas. He surprised me, he'd done his homework online. So we laid out the basics and I got mine done pretty quick."

She paused for a moment, then continued. "I mean, I know he's gonna come up with something beautiful. He says the sweetest, most loving things to me sometimes, really blows me away. But I don't want him to freeze up, so I can't pressure him about it."

"He's gonna be fine, Hon."

"Yeah, I know… But once in a while I think maybe we should've stuck to traditional vows. Woulda made Mom and Father Ken happy. They're trying to cling to every tradition we'll give them because there's so much that's not. We've had to find a lot of work-arounds. Since Adam's not Catholic we're not doing Communion. But Mom wouldn't let go of the Unity Candle, so we're doing that. Poor Father Ken. It's been tough on him, but he's been great, he's somehow found a way to make everyone happy. You should have seen his face when we told him about Grace being the Best 'Man'. But then he said later that even though it's unusual, it's also right. The Best Man should be the groom's best friend.

"I'm really glad that we chose him to officiate. We did a sort of abbreviated version of his pre-marital counseling sessions and that man has the patience of a saint! When we were done, he said we were one of the quirkiest families he's ever come across, but he also said he got it, he understood that Adam and I were meant to be."

"He's right about that."

"Of course he is."

"Then, what's really bothering you?"

Joan was stymied. She had no answer.

"You're not having doubts?"

"Absolutely not. Lyddie, you know I love Adam. I've never doubted that for one minute."

"So the wedding's in two days. Everything is pretty much ready to go. And you and your fiancé are desperately in love and fated to be together. Yeah, I can see why you'd be wigging out. It's very unsettling."

"Don't be a smartass," Joan laughed.

And Lydia joined her. "Well, there you go. You sound a little more relaxed now."

"Thanks for listening to me whine. Mom's over it."

"You're welcome. Anytime. It's all gonna be fine."

"Yeah, keep saying that often enough, maybe it'll come true."

* * *

Joan and Adam both pulled their cars into the parking lot of the Swann House, the old colonial mansion where the reception would take place. They were meeting their baker, who was delivering the wedding cake. Getting out of their cars, they drew together for a quick hug. Well it started that way, at least. Neither of them could believe that they had only been apart for two nights. Or that they would still be apart for two more. Despite that lovely little interlude the previous afternoon, they still missed each other fiercely.

They finally separated and entered the beautiful old historic home, arriving just ahead of the baker. They were both floored when they saw the cake. Though Joan had seen pictures of what it would look like, the photographs hadn't done it justice. It was gorgeous! It had four tiers and each tier had an edible ribbon of deep purple wrapped around the base. Additionally, there were sheets of fondant that were elaborately festooned over the cake, like drapery swags. While they watched, the baker finished decorating the cake with fragile butterflies of crystallized sugar in shades of lavender and purple. He explained that this couldn't be done until the cake had arrived at its final destination because they might break off in transit. He also assured them that he would be there on Saturday to look the cake over once again so that, should any mishaps occur, they could be corrected prior to the reception. He wished them both well on their big day and left.

Adam was so impressed by how beautiful the cake was that, at first, he didn't notice that the cake topper was something special, too. Joan and Adam had been unable to find one that they liked in the baker's catalog. When Adam looked closer at what was sitting atop their cake, he noticed that they weren't the standard-issue Caucasian bride and groom with the correct hair colors. They _were_ Adam and Joan!

"That's… us?" he said, hang-jawed.

She nodded.

On the figurine Adam was looking at, Joan was carrying a faint Adam. It was adorable. "Funny! How'd you do that?"

"Well, see, that's actually not the real one. There's a more formal version, too," Joan reached behind the cake and pulled out a second figurine. This one also was the very image of the two of them, slow-dancing, her head on his shoulder. It was incredibly soulful, just beautiful.

"Jane, who made these? Your mom?" Adam grinned, truly amazed at the artistry and craftsmanship evident in the two figurines.

Joan laughed, knowing that her mother had barely had time to brush her teeth this past month. "No, it was Jamal. It really bothered him that he couldn't be with us for the wedding, or do anything for us. The idea was that we put the funny one on at first. Then we'll switch it out for the dancing one," she told him.

This touched Adam, because he knew that they had already received a beautiful 11" X 14" silver picture frame that was engraved with their names and their wedding date from Jamal's family. It was already sitting on their mantelpiece, waiting for a wedding picture to go into it. "How," he asked.

"Oh, Mrs. Morgan and I cooked it up between us, with a lot of help from Mr. O'Connell. We had that special polymer clay stuff delivered to Hogan from the manufacturers. Jamal was allowed to work on them in one of his other classes as long as he kept up with his regular assignments. When he finished them, I drove out there to pick them up and then baked them in the oven at home before you got home from work. Aren't they great?"

Adam smiled. "They're fantastic!" He admired Jamal's work for awhile longer and then frowned suddenly. "You didn't go out to Hogan by yourself, did you," Adam asked, worriedly.

"No! Will you relax? I knew you'd blow a gasket if I did that," Joan smiled. "I went there with Mrs. Morgan and Malcolm. You shoulda seen him. He's _ferocious_ if anyone stares too long at his Mama or his brother. If they do he glares them down until they skulk away. It's hilarious."

Reassured, Adam's attention returned to the figurines. "Don't say anything, but I'm pretty sure Jamal is gonna pass his art class," he told Joan with a smile. "I can't believe he did this."

"He cares about us. He cares about _you_," Joan said simply.

Hand in hand they left the Swann House, thrilled about both their reception site and their wedding cake. Joan explained that Helen planned to touch up the figurines so that the clothing matched what they were wearing, since Jamal had no way of knowing that. "I just wanted you to see them before she does it, because you're not supposed to see my dress. Even a mini version."

When they reached Joan's car, Adam leaned in and kissed her, leaving them both breathless. They pressed their foreheads together, holding each other close, yet longing for more contact. With a deep sigh Joan finally drew back and said, "I'll see you Saturday, huh?"

Adam looked just as stricken as Joan did, but he tried to smile. "I'll be there," he said, kissing her again. "I love you."

"I love _you_! Call me tonight, okay?"

"You know I will," he assured her.

Missing each other already, they both got into their cars and drove away.

* * *

Later that night there was a knock against the glass of Joan's bedroom window. Joan spun to face it and saw Adam's dark outline clutching the drainpipe just outside her window.

"Adam!" she exclaimed. "My dress!" She jumped up and got her dress from where it hung on her door and quickly shoved it into her closet, hiding it from him.

Then she opened the window and let him climb in. "Hey," he said sheepishly, pulling her in for a deep kiss.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said after she kissed him.

They squeezed each other tight.

"I know," he said as he kissed her again. "It's just seeing you today made me realize how much I miss you," he breathed into her mouth.

"Me too," she sighed against him.

For a second there, all they wanted to do was rip each other's clothes off and do it right there on the floor. But they didn't. He backed down. She backed down. Their breathing finally slowed.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No, baby, that felt so good."

"I, uh, I... just... I finished my vows."

"Sweetie, that's great!"

"Yeah, I just wanted to tell you. I didn't intend to break our agreement." He corrected himself, "I _don't _intend to. I just—you know what? I'll go." He turned to the window to leave, but she pulled him back.

"You can hang out for awhile. As long as you're quiet and don't wake my parents."

He smiled and shrugged. How many nights had they spent exactly like this? Up the drainpipe and into her room, _shhhh, don't wake Mom and Dad_. Kisses, cuddles, stories, giggles. And no sex.

He sat down on the edge of her bed, just as he had done so many times as a teenager. "So, what were you doing? Other than staring at your dress?" He smiled a little, he'd seen her through the window.

"Actually, I was about to paint my toenails. It can wait though."

He shook his head. "I'll do it for you. I have a pretty steady hand."

"Oh, I know." She smiled a bit to herself. "But why would you want to?"

"It means spending more time with you. I wanna do it. What color were you thinking?"

"I don't really know. Something light, I guess. Maybe even clear... it just makes my nails seem cleaner."

He shook his head slightly and went to her dresser, where her nail polishes were all pushed together in the back corner. He fingered through them, finally pulling out the color he wanted.

He showed her the deep red polish in the bottle. "You used to wear it all the time in high school. I really liked it."

"That color's not really appropriate for a wedding though."

"White wouldn't be either," he told her with a quick shrug as he sat back down on the bed. "Nobody's gonna be looking at your feet, Jane."

She nodded, he did have a point. He laid down against her pillows, allowing her to prop her feet against his chest.

He opened the bottle and carefully began painting her nails.

"So, you saw my dress, huh?"

He shook his head and smiled. "Nah, not really. It was dark. I couldn't see much of anything."

"Well, I can tell you right now it'll make you pass out."

"That doesn't surprise me. It's not that hard for you to make me pass out."

"If you do pass out, you'll just have to make it up to me in the Jacuzzi."

He smiled again. "I can do that."

She grinned back at him before she asked, "Does it ever bother you that we didn't go through with the elopement?"

"Yeah, it's bothering me right now."

She laughed.

"Jane, honestly, I wouldn't change a thing about how life has been for us this time around. Would you?"

"Maybe a few days last August. Other than that? Nope."

"Look at us. We made it."

"We did."

"In just a couple more days, you'll be Mrs. Rove."

"A couple more days is way too long." She leaned forward slightly, putting one hand on his elbow to pull him in until their lips met for a kiss. A kiss that ended too abruptly when the nail polish Adam was holding spilled onto her foot and his shirt.

"Damn!" he said a little too loudly, Joan shushed him quickly as she set the bottle upright before it got on anything else.

He got a tissue off the bedside table to try and salvage his shirt. He only succeeded in smearing the sticky polish all over it.

"Sweetie, it's a lost cause. Just take it off and we'll throw it away."

He shook his head. "I can use it to paint in, at least." He quickly took it off and tossed it to the floor. He laid back in his original position, she put her now red foot onto his bare chest. "What is it with girls and painting your toenails? It's such a hassle," he said, now speaking from experience.

She shrugged and opened her mouth to answer, but the door flung open just as she began to speak. They both looked up quickly to see Helen standing in the doorway, her arms folded. Adam and Joan scrambled off the bed to stand and face her.

"What's going on in here?" Helen asked.

Joan shook her head automatically. "Nothing. Adam was just painting my toenails."

"Without a shirt on?"

Adam turned red and looked down quickly.

"He spilled the nail polish. Look," Joan held up her stained foot.

"I didn't mean to cause any trouble," Adam started slowly. "We are totally keeping our agreement, I swear. I just missed her. I needed to see her."

"We honestly didn't even think of having sex, Mom."

"If I had another hand I'd be fully dressed right now," Adam stammered in his defense. "And Joan's foot wouldn't be red."

Helen sighed inwardly. "Well, you saw each other. It's late, don't you think you should be leaving, Adam?"

"Yeah," Adam whispered quickly. He grabbed his shirt and headed for the window, throwing Joan an almost suggestive glance as he climbed back down the drainpipe.

* * *

Friday morning Joan sat in her mother's beautiful cobalt blue and sunny yellow kitchen and enjoyed a light breakfast of tea and a muffin. As she was reading the morning edition of _The Arcadia Herald_, Luke came into the room. He was checking his wallet and pulling his car keys from a hook in the back hallway.

"Good morning," she greeted him. "Where are you headed?"

"Baltimore. I'm gonna pick up Grandpa Fred at the airport."

"Right," Joan remembered. "Is Grandma Girardi staying here, too?"

"No. She and Aunt Fran decided they'd be more comfortable at the hotel. They're at the same one where all the cousins are staying."

"Why is Grandpa Fred just coming today?"

Luke chuckled, "He didn't want to miss his Thursday afternoon pinochle game. I'm just glad he flew. He wanted to drive. Mom found him a direct flight and sent him a ticket."

Something occurred to Joan. "Hey, Luke," she asked. "Where are you gonna sleep tonight?"

"Here, I guess. What do you mean?"

"Grandpa Fred will be in Kevin's old room. I'm in _my_ old room. _Your_ old room isn't even a bedroom anymore…"

"Oh, right. I guess I'll sack out on the couch in the den. Shouldn't be too bad."

"Not too bad? I slept on that thing the last time we had a full house and my back hasn't been the same since. And that was four years ago," Joan protested.

"It's only for one night. I'll sleep in your room tomorrow night. You'll be on your honeymoon."

"Still, that one night will be purgatory," Joan was sympathetic. "Hey, I've got an idea! Why don't you stay in our guest room tonight? It's got a nice comfortable mattress and I'm sure Adam would appreciate the company. He might be a little jumpy the night before the wedding," she said with a smile.

Luke, not a bit anxious to spend a night on that lumpy sofa bed, jumped at the idea. "Yeah, I could do that. Are you sure he wouldn't mind?"

"I think he'd welcome the company, but I'll call and ask. He's going out to dinner with his aunts and all of his cousins. After that he'll be back at the house all by himself," Joan said.

"That works out because we're having dinner here with the grandparents and Aunt Fran tonight," Luke told her. "Dad's making lasagna. After that, I could drive the ladies back to the hotel and head over to your place," Luke said appreciatively.

* * *

That evening there were nine for dinner at the Girardi house. In addition to Helen, Will, Luke and Joan, there was Helen's father Grandpa Fred, Will's mother and sister, and Kevin and Lilly.

Before sitting down to Will's peerless lasagna, Helen and Joan took the other three women upstairs to see Joan's wedding dress. Although you couldn't tell much about it on the hanger, it was white lace with a wide swoosh of lavender taffeta, strapless, and backless all the way down to the curve of her hips. And yes, Joan was absolutely certain it would make Adam's knees wobbly.

"Joan, _cara mia_, _ti amo_, but you're gonna look kind of _bare_ in that, aren't you?" her grandmother asked. But it was largely rhetorical. Before Joan could even open her mouth to speak, Grandma went on, addressing Helen now, "Whatever happened to tasteful all-white gowns with long veils?"

"That's the fashion nowadays, Eleanor. Almost every dress we looked at had some color. And the styles?" Helen shook her head. "Heck, some of them were barely dresses at all."

Aunt Fran rushed in, "I think it's _wonderful_! Helen, remember when wedding dresses were all the same shade of chalk white? A bride only had one choice, no matter how washed-out it made her look. The happiest day of her life and she looked like she was wearing a shroud! Now they have all these beautiful shades of ivory, ecru, ice blue, pale pink so every bride can have a wedding dress that flatters her. It's a lovely dress, Joanie. You are gonna look so beautiful," her aunt hugged her.

She wisely avoided mention of how sexy the dress was.

Helen smiled gratefully at her sister-in-law. Fran returned the smile with great humor. She loved her mother, but she knew that it wouldn't do anyone any good to get into a discussion with Grandma about what Joan had or hadn't saved for the big day. Fran, Will, Helen and their kids all lived in the 21st century. A lot of Mama's attitudes and beliefs were still straight out of 1930s Naples. It was with real relief that Fran heard her brother's voice calling up the stairs announcing dinner.

"So, Joanie," Grandpa Fred said over the meal, "tell me about this young man of yours."

Joan smiled. Adam was her favorite subject. "Well, he's sweet and wonderful and I'm crazy about him…"

"That's nice, baby. But what does he _do_," her grandfather asked.

"Oh," she smiled, "he's an artist."

"Peachy," Grandpa Fred said scornfully. "A beatnik!"

Kevin laughed. "Grandpa, I'm pretty sure the only surviving beatniks are older than you."

Will chuckled but moved quickly moved to cover for his oldest son's indiscretion. "Adam's in advertising, Fred. He's done the print ads for a lot of national campaigns. You've probably seen his work in magazines. He's doing very well."

"But, Will…," his father-in-law inquired, "…what do we _know_ about this boy? His people? Did you check him out?"

"I didn't need to check him out," Will assured him. "His father worked for me. He was a good man. We've known Adam since we first moved to Arcadia. Since he was a little guy. Well, he's _still_ a little guy…"

"Dad!" Joan protested.

"That's not what _I_ heard," Helen muttered just under her breath.

At this quiet aside, Lilly could barely suppress a snicker while Joan looked mortified. She wondered again what else she had said or done at that bachelorette party that would someday come back to haunt her.

Fortunately no one but Joan and Lilly had heard Helen's remark. Grandpa Fred saw Joan's dismay and patted her hand. "Don't worry, Sweet Pea. Your mother always liked 'em short, too."

"Hey," Will protested, "I'm 5'11"!"

Grandma Girardi chimed in, "He gets that from the Girardi side, Fred. All the men in the Marone family are _very_ tall!"

"I thought your maiden name was Monroe, Grandma," Luke said.

Will and Fran had heard this story many times. In unison Grandma, Fran, and Will said, "_Ellis Island_…"

But Will, still stung by the disparaging remarks about his height grumbled, "Since when is 5'11" considered _short_?"

* * *

After escorting Grandma Girardi and Aunt Fran to their hotel, Luke arrived at Adam and Joan's place a little after 9:00.

As Joan had suspected, Adam was very happy to have someone else staying in the house this last night before the wedding. Since he'd finished writing his vows the day before, he had become very antsy. Now he just wanted to get the ceremony over with.

"Man," Luke remarked, sipping his beer. "What a difference a year makes, huh?"

"Yep," Adam replied. He sighed as he recalled the profound, almost paralyzing grief he had fallen into following his father's death. And how, after he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable to her again, he and Joan had found their way back to each other. And he remembered the amazing happiness and contentment that he had experienced almost every moment since. "Quite a year," he repeated.

"Remember that first Family Night you came to last May?" Luke asked. "You told me then you wanted to marry her. And here you are."

"Here we are," Adam smiled.

Luke replied quietly, "I just can't believe it took her so long."

"It was me, too," Adam said. "I still had a lot of growing up to do."

Luke only nodded. "Did you always know you'd get back together?"

"Know? No way. I don't think I let myself think about it, consciously at least. I think I must've hoped, though. I mean look, Arcadia, Maryland isn't exactly the center of the art world, or of advertising and graphic design, for that matter."

The idea startled Luke, "You think you came back here after college for Joan?"

"I think I must've," Adam repeated, realizing it himself as he was talking. "I mean, yeah, I wanted to help my dad. And Grace is here. It's home."

"But those things weren't compelling enough reasons for settling permanently in Arcadia, right?" Luke asked.

"No, I guess not. And, even if I wasn't on the partnership track, I'd still be making a hell of a lot more if I worked for Young and Rubicam, or some other big New York ad agency."

"So do you...," the idea of rearranging your whole life because of the possibility of a relationship, much less doing so without conscious thought, stymied Luke. He sighed to himself. "Do you ever feel like you're giving something up?" he asked.

"Maybe a little, every once in a while. But I love my life, for the most part. Joan's amazing. Work is great."

"Yeah," Luke said thoughtfully. "You're lucky. You've found your place in the world."

"You haven't?"

"In the academic world, yeah, maybe," Luke nodded. "But there's a lot more to life. Right?"

"Absolutely."

"I want that. I dated a few girls when I was an undergrad, but since I've been working on my dissertation, I've kind of avoided involvements. Kept telling myself I was just too busy."

"And now?"

"There's a girl."

Adam nodded, smiling. "I figured."

"It's nothing. At least not yet. She's just someone I like. She's in my class and she's a TA, too. She took over my classes this week so I could come down early. There isn't anything between us." Luke explained.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

"I just -- I don't even know where I'll _be_ a year from now. I don't know if I want to stay in academia, work for the government, or get a job in the private sector…"

"Yeah, but you work in the same field. Maybe you'll both be in the same place a year from now. Or you could arrange to be."

"Maybe," Luke replied pensively.

"Look," Adam told him, "Maybe she's _not_ the one. The odds are against it, for everybody. But you're never gonna know until you put yourself out there. Maybe _she'_s where you belong, ya know?"

"Yeah, but realistically, man, I don't know what I have to offer her, or anybody else, right now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't tell anybody, OK?"

Adam nodded.

"Sometimes... sometimes, I still feel like the giant dork I was in high school. I mean, I've got students at MIT who are older than me, and they never let me forget it. And my work, my research, school, it's my life."

"Sounds like it's her life, too."

Luke hadn't really thought about that. "I guess..."

"So, what could be more perfect?"

Luke shrugged. "Glynis and I were perfectly compatible and it didn't work out."

"This girl…?" Adam paused, fishing for a name.

"Addie. Well, Addison."

"Addison is not Glynis"

"No, I know, I just mean the only girl I've ever really connected with was Grace and we were almost polar opposites. Practically the only thing we had in common was the fact that we were both Subdefectives."

"Yeah, and I know you loved each other, but ultimately, that wasn't enough to keep you together. I think you need _some_ common ground"

"You have that with Joan?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

Adam thought about that for a minute and he laughed a bit as if he'd never realized how hard it was to put his soul-deep connection with Joan into words. "It's... well, let me see if I can describe it... It's like, when she tells me about something she loves, a song or a movie or whatever, I'm fascinated and I wanna hear it or see it, too. If something upsets her, I feel it like a punch. Even if she's in a terrible mood, I'd rather be with her than anyone else in the world. I know you're a scientist and all, Luke, but love can't be quantified. It just kinda happens or it doesn't."

"What if it doesn't happen?"

"Well, if you're lucky, you get to make a friend. Who knows? You might even get laid, which really ain't half bad."

Luke laughed and actually blushed as he took a swig of beer. "Dude, I've been laid. I'm not a total reject."

Adam laughed with him. "So what's got you so twisted up about this girl then?"

"I just… I really care about her. And I don't wanna mess it up."

Adam smiled at him. "Well, then I think you owe it to both of you to at least give it try. Because when it works, when it's really right… the sky's the limit, man."

* * *

_**SATURDAY, APRIL 9, 2011  
St. Mark's Catholic Church 12:45 PM**_

"Adam, honey, you shouldn't roll up the sleeves of your shirt. It's gonna get wrinkles."

He looked at his Aunt Lou and had to work hard to keep from snapping at her. He hated all the fussing. He hated the waiting. And he'd only arrived fifteen minutes earlier. Everyone seemed to have something to do, something to take care of or organize or finish. Even Grace was bustling around. All he could do was pace up and down since whenever he asked if there was something he could help with, they'd tell him it was all taken care of and he should just try to relax.

"Enjoying your last minutes of bachelorhood?" he heard Grace's voice and felt her hand clapping him on the shoulder.

He turned to her. "I… No, I don't know," he stammered.

"You're nervous," she told him with a smirk, like she was mocking him.

"Yeah, I'm nervous," he growled. "How can I not be nervous? I'm getting married, Grace."

The smile vanished off her face. "Dude, you need to relax."

"If one more person says that to me--" he cut himself off and looked away from her. He didn't mean to be so weird. He just couldn't help it. He paced another few steps, then told her, "I need to pee."

It was almost one when Brody entered the Church and found Grace. "Where's 'da man'?" he asked, looking around.

"I don't know," she told him. "He said he was gonna go to the bathroom but that was, like, ten, fifteen minutes ago. I was about to go look for him."

"Let me check the can. Maybe he's got a nervous stomach, ya know?"

Grace turned her nose up at the thought.

Just a couple of minutes later he came back shaking his head. "He's not there. I asked around and no one's seen him. No way he bailed, right?"

She looked into the distance, narrowing her eyes for a moment. "No..."_No way, _she thought._ He wouldn't. Would he? _

"Then where the hell is he?"

Grace headed for the front door. "I may have a couple of ideas."

_**To Be Continued...**_


	34. Everything Always :: Part 2

_**Chapter 27  
**_**Everything... Always**

**- Part Two -**

_by Sisterdebmac, Laura & Carol  
with additions by TeeJay _

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
This has been a long time coming. We hope the results are as weird, funny, sweet and satisfying as these characters deserve. _

_**Synopsis:**  
Adam and Joan are wed. You expected something else?_

_**Rating: PG-13 **__for adult language and situations._

_**Disclaimer:**  
They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah. _

* * *

"Don't you have somewhere you should be?"

Adam spun to look at Grace, where she stood behind him in her fitted tuxedo in that spot just above the sewers. _Their_ sewers. "Don't _you_ have somewhere you should be?" he repeated to her.

"Well, yeah, but there's really no use going to a wedding when the groom is running away. As funny as me dressed in a tux will be for people to look at, it won't make up for you not being there."

"I'll be there," he whispered, turning back around to look over the edge at the sewer drains, crouching awkwardly on the ground so he wouldn't mess up his tux.

"When were you thinking about showing up?"

"I just need some time to think."

"About what?"

"I'm getting married, Grace. This is a big step. Huge." He ran one hand through his hair and let out a breath.

"Are you running away or not?" She went to sit next to him, not caring if she messed up her tux when there might not even be a wedding.

"No," he whispered. "I couldn't leave Joan. I just, I needed a minute to breathe. It's been so crazy these last few months with the planning and everything. I never really got to just be happy about getting married, our lives totally revolved around planning and the guest list."

"Well, it's all gonna be over in about an hour."

"Then it's the rest of my life. I mean, what if she decides one day that she doesn't wanna be with me anymore? What if she just falls out of love with me?"

"She's loved you for more than six years. If she hasn't fallen out of love with you already, she's not going to."

He got up and sighed. "I hope you're right."

Grace got up, too. "Dude, why are you being so weird? You know how much she loves you. What's this really all about?"

He shook his head, like he was trying to erase something from his mind, shake all the doubts out of it. "God, I don't know... I guess it's just—" After a moment's hesitation, he sighed and told Grace what was really troubling him. "With all this craziness lately, I never had a chance to think about... them. What they would have wanted, if they would have approved of the way we're doing all of this." He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice. "I just miss 'em, Grace."

"Of course you do," his oldest friend said sympathetically. Her voice became uncharacteristically soft, "And knowing your mom, she would have loved all of it. Even me in this monkey suit."

He smiled.

"She'd be sitting there in the front row, amazed and overjoyed. Your dad would be bursting with pride."

He just nodded, and Grace saw that his eyes were watering. She lightly tugged at his sleeve. "Come on. People are waiting. Go make 'em proud."

* * *

"Grace, your tux. What happened? Did you fall down?" Helen asked the moment she saw the brown mud stains on Grace's black tuxedo.

Grace turned her torso around awkwardly to try and get a look at her butt where Helen was pointing. "No, it's fine. I'm okay, I didn't fall down."

"Let me see." Helen bent down to assess the damage. "We need to clean your trousers, get those stains out."

"I can't be that bad," Grace protested, already annoyed at Helen picking at her pants. "I barely sat down."

"Sat down? Why would you sit down in the mud?"

"It was... an emergency. I had to go fetch the groom."

"The groom? What? Where'd he go?" Helen was getting more anxious by the minute.

"Relax, Mrs. Girardi, it's all good. Just a minor glitch."

"Do I need to be worried?"

"No, seriously. Just some last-minute jitters."

"Last minute jitters? Grace, you're not exactly reassuring me here."

"I promise you, it's okay. I screwed his head back on straight.

Grace turned to look at Helen, speaking with conviction. "Please don't worry. He was just nervous. And he's sad that his folks aren't here. He loves her. He's not going anywhere."

Helen breathed in a long breath. "Well, I hope you're right. Come on, there's a bathroom where we can fix you up, we should be able to wash this out."

She took Grace lightly by the arm and guided her to the bathroom. Grace was too taken by surprise to object much.

* * *

"Jane?" Adam voice came from the doorway of the room Joan was getting dressed in.

"Adam! Don't look at me!" Joan quickly tried to cover her reflection in the mirror.

"I'm not going to." She turned slightly and saw that his back was to the room. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just... I just wanted to talk to you." He started to take a step back into the room. "Can I come in? I won't look, I need to hold your hand."

"OK." She began backing toward him, as he came towards her. They eventually met and entwined both of their hands at their sides. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I was thinking about my parents. It just... hurts that they're not here. It never really hit me until now. They should be here for this."

"They are, Adam. They're watching. They know how happy we are." She felt his hands tremble inside hers. "Adam?"

"I'm fine," he told her, but she knew he wasn't when she heard his voice break.

"Oh, Adam." She suddenly had the urge to turn around and hug him. She took her hands out of his and wrapped her arms awkwardly around him, keeping their position. "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

"All right." He obeyed, confused.

She slowly turned him around, ready to turn him right back if his eyes opened, and hugged him tightly.

He kept his eyes closed and hugged her back. "Thank you," he whispered into her neck.

"Just a few more minutes," she assured him.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"You should be getting back, they'll think you ran off."

He honestly hoped she'd never know that he already kind of did. He nodded and let go of her then slowly spun around so his back was to her again, keeping his eyes closed all the while. He kissed her hand. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

* * *

Joan heard something fall in the metal trashcan behind her. She spun and found her bouquet strewn away.

"Why did you do that?" she yelled. Cute Boy-God just smiled. "You realize I have to walk down the aisle in like, five minutes with those, right?" She picked the flowers out of the can, noticing all the petals that had fallen to the bottom. "Great, thanks."

"Don't you think I look nice?" He motioned to the dark tuxedo He wore, keeping one hand behind His back.

"When don't you?"

He smiled again. "I have a present for you." He showed her what He had been hiding, a bouquet made almost completely of a deep mauve flower she'd never seen before. "They're from England," He told her. "In honor of Julie Andrews."

"When did she die?"

"She hasn't, Joan. But the flowers are very much like her personality and they remind Me of her home. They thrive in damp and cool environments. They also remind Me of you." He handed the flowers to her. "You deserve something special on your wedding day."

* * *

Helen knocked on the door of the sitting room where Adam was waiting until it was time for the ceremony to begin.

"Adam? It's Helen. Can I come in?"

Adam opened the door for her. She took one look at his face and pulled him into her arms.

"What's wrong," she asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he sniffed. Her loving, sympathetic expression had completely undone him.

"You most certainly are _not_ fine," Helen replied. "What's the matter? Grace told me you left?" Helen wiped away a stray tear that Adam hadn't been able to squelch.

"Oh, I was a little nervous. Nothing I can't handle. Mostly I was thinking about Mom and Dad. I feel so stupid. I mean I _should_ be used to them being gone by now, shouldn't I?"

Helen choked back her own tears as she drew Adam into another hug. "Oh, honey! My mother was nearly 80 when she died. She had cancer and was in terrible pain. It was really a blessing when she finally went. But I _still_ miss her! I miss her every day. I'm sure it's even harder for you to reconcile..."

"Yeah," Adam replied. "But it's been years. Shouldn't I be able to move on?"

"You_ have _moved on, Adam! It's amazing to me how far you've come. But these milestones are a huge reminder. They're gonna sneak up on you."

"Yeah, I remember I got a little upset when I graduated from college. And I still had Dad then. Of course I didn't have you and Joan. Even though she _was_ there."

"Well," Helen replied briskly, "you've got us both now! And we did try to find a way to honor your mom and dad in the ceremony. I hope you'll be happy with what we did..."

"Oh! Adam, there you are," an elderly woman with a shoulder-length ash blonde bob and large glasses stopped him as he paced the hallway to walk off some nervous energy.

"That boutonniere you're wearing is for the groomsmen and best person. The groom gets something special." Mrs. LandingGod removed the flower the florist had originally given him for his lapel. She replaced it with a flower that was the same as those that made up Joan's bouquet, fastening it in place with a large, pearl-studded pin.

"Thank you," Adam smiled at the woman.

"You're very welcome, dear," She replied, returning his smile.

"You look so familiar. Do we know each other?"

"Oh, yes! I've known you all your life. Even before. Have a lovely day, dear. Be happy." She affectionately placed Her palm against his cheek and smiled at him. Then She turned and walked away.

Confused, Adam called after Her, "Thank you so much." Without turning around, Mrs. Landing-God lifted Her right hand and wiggled Her fingers in a wave as She walked away.

* * *

At exactly 2:00 p.m., Adam's attendants began to take their places in front of the altar. They filed out from a side door next to the altar. First Henry, then Brody, and Jamie stepped into their places. Then came Grace who, as Best Man, would stand nearest Adam.

Behind the altar on decorative easels, Helen and Joan had placed three large, beautiful portraits of Adam's family. There was one of Carl and one of Elizabeth, taken when they were both in their early 40s, both still healthy and in the prime of their lives. In the center, there was one of the two of them in their mid-thirties, smiling and happy, Elizabeth holding an infant Adam.

The door opened again and Adam came out, followed by Father Ken. When he saw the photographs he turned and smiled at Helen, sitting in her pew. His expression was one of genuine amazement that melted into pure gratitude when she returned his smile.

* * *

Joan stood quietly as she waited for music to begin that would signal that it was time for her to walk down the aisle with her father. While she watched the flurry of last-minute activity that took place all around her, she smiled and allowed her mind to wander. Stephanie stood in a chair and Lilly gave her hair a final brushing for her. The wedding coordinator lined up the bridesmaids in the order that they would precede the flower girl and Joan down the aisle: Lilly, Lydia, Susan, and finally Karen. Like a director or choreographer, the dark-haired Man gave each of them last minute instructions: smile, back straight, relax, have fun. Still lost in her reverie, Joan watched Susan get one last once-over from the Guy.

It wasn't until Karen had begun her walk down the aisle that Joan remembered something. The final wedding budget that she and Helen had prepared hadn't included a wedding coordinator! For most of the day, Helen had been taking care of all of those last-minute things. With a gasp she took a second look at that wedding coordinator. It was none other than 'Johnny Godway'. He bent down and gently sent little Steffie down the aisle then stood and smiled at Joan. She returned His smile.

"Still more surprises," she asked.

"Oh, stay tuned. You're not gonna want to miss a minute of what's coming!" He touched one of her curls and grinned beatifically.

As her father took her arm, Joan whispered to the Coordinator, "I can't wait."

He smiled and bowed in that inimitably goofy way of His, then moved to one side so that Joan and Will could take their places before the cathedral doors.

* * *

Will sighed as the music started on the other side of the closed doors. "You know, Sweetie, it isn't too late to run."

"I'm not going anywhere, Dad. Don't worry. Adam's a good man."

He nodded slightly. "I know he is."

"I know you don't like him—"

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

Joan smiled and gave him a look. "Because you don't." She kissed her father's cheek gently. "Can I get married now?"

He sighed and kissed the top of Joan's head. "My little girl. She's all grown up." He turned to face the door and held out his arm so she could take it.

"I'll always be your little girl, Daddy."

"That's good to hear. And I _do_ like Adam, I swear. I gave him a lawnmower – a _really __good_ one!"

The doors suddenly opened. And Joan looked up at her father. "Thank you," she smiled and they stepped onto the red carpet of the church together.

When Adam saw her, he could not breathe. His hand went to his heart and he would've fallen down, but he felt a hand on his elbow. Grace's hand.

His bride was a vision in her white and lavender gown. She wore no veil. Her hair was up, but curled tendrils touched her neck and her bare shoulders. She smiled at him like he was the most treasured thing in the world and again, he felt weak-kneed.

The music played and he watched as her father led her to her new life with him. He'd never felt so much joy.

"Dude, you OK?" Grace whispered.

"I'm great," he smiled down at her quickly before he turned his eyes back to his beautiful, amazing Jane.

Soon the distance between them closed and she stood beside him. Will tenderly placed Joan's right hand in Adam's, and stepped away to take his place. Adam and Joan looked happily into each other's eyes.

The music finished and Father Ken began. "Friends, we have been invited here today to share with Joan and Adam a very important moment in their lives. In the years they have known each other, their love and understanding of each other has grown and matured, and now they have decided to live their lives together as husband and wife.

"Who gives this woman to be wedded to this man?"

Will Girardi spoke up. "Her mother and I do."

As Will turned away to take his seat beside Helen, Joan drew him back to her for a brief hug. As they pulled apart, Will's kissed his daughter's cheek and struggled to hold back tears. Before stepping away, he shook Adam's hand, touching the younger man's shoulder and upper arm with his left hand in a gesture of affection.

Father Ken stepped closer to the lectern and smiled with real love at the couple he was marrying.

"As most of you know, this isn't going to be a traditional nuptial mass. However, since I _am_ a priest, Joan and Adam have graciously allowed me to deliver a brief little homily. And Joan did stress the word _brief_. I promised her that I would bear that in mind." Father allowed himself a small smile. Here the congregation chuckled.

"Since Adam and Joan first came to me a few months ago to begin the counseling sessions that would help them prepare for marriage, I've come to know and care for both of them very much. Meeting and getting to know this young man has convinced me that Joan has found her true mate. And Adam has found his. Their personalities, while often divergent, are always complementary. They truly bring out the best in each other. And it's a joy to witness.

"Becoming reacquainted with Joan has reminded me of what a blessing her family has been to me over the years.

"My history with the Girardi clan began nearly eight years ago. I was standing in front of the Motor Vehicle Administration with my red bucket, raising money for the homeless. It was a pretty slow morning until this rather disturbed woman marched up to me demanding to know why God allowed suffering. Not a small question, is it? She didn't want to come by my office for a theological discussion. She wanted the 'abridged, parking-lot version'. My relationship with Joan's mother has helped me think about and define my own faith in many ways over the years. And she certainly helped me learn to think on my feet," he smiled.

"A few days ago, Adam came to see me. I don't think I'm telling tales out of school when I tell you that he's told me that he has never been happier in his life than he has this last year since reuniting with Joan. He felt so fortunate that he wasn't sure how to feel worthy of the blessings he was receiving. Another very large question, isn't it?

"My discussion with Adam reminded me of my first meeting with Joan. I first spoke with her at an art show at the high school about seven years ago. She wanted to know if God would ever ask a person to do something bad. Even before she told me her name, I recognized her as her mother's daughter. It seems she felt compelled to do something destructive in order to help a friend avert disaster. Her ultimate choice caused her a great deal of pain and I understand that initially things didn't go very well.

"I guess eventually it all turned out all right, though. Because today Joan and her friend have come to St. Mark's to join their lives and hearts in marriage," here Father Ken smiled at the couple as they smiled through tears at each other.

Father Ken continued, "As these wonderful young people begin their lives together, I am again moved to ponder those big questions: How do we bear our trials with courage and dignity? How do we accept our blessings with grace and humility? How do we do the will of God?

"Joan and Adam are people of great faith, who truly believe that all things eventually work out for the best when God is present in one's life. I pray that, day by day, they'll always find their answers. Of one thing I'm positive: they're certainly asking the right questions.

"Well, Joan, I trust my brevity was satisfactory?"

She nodded, smiling.

"Adam..." Father Ken nodded at him.

Adam faced Joan and for a second, words failed him. He could hardly believe where they were and the magnitude of what he was about to say. But even though Father Ken helped them write this part together, he meant every word from the bottom of his heart.

"Joan Agnes Girardi," he began, smiling at her, "today I pledge to you what has already been yours for so long -- my eternal love. I promise to walk hand-in-hand with you through all of life's journeys. No matter what lies in our path, it will be _our_ path, together. In the joys and troubles that lie ahead of us, I will always be faithful and loving to you. This is my solemn vow."

Father Ken nodded at the bride now, whose eyes glimmered with emotion as she said, "Adam Nicholas Rove, today I pledge to you what has already been yours for so long -- my eternal love. I promise to walk hand-in-hand with you through all of life's journeys. No matter what lies in our path, it will be _our_ path, together. In the joys and troubles that lie ahead of us, I will always be faithful and loving to you. This is my solemn vow."

Father Ken's attention fell to the young ring bearer now. And everyone else's gaze followed his.

Zach stood happily next to his cousin Adam, very proud of himself for not dropping the pillow, and for standing still while the man in the funny collar talked for so long. So proud, he decided that he deserved a treat. He surreptitiously plucked one of the rings off the pillow and popped it into his mouth, swallowing with a wide smile on his face.

Suddenly Stephanie, the flower girl, let out an ear-piercing shriek! "Quit it," she shouted, shoving Zach.

From her seat next to Lou, Maggie whispered soothingly to her granddaughter, "It's okay, honey. We'll talk about it after Adam and Joan are through getting married."

Steffie refused to be placated, "But look what he's _doing_, Mama Meg!" She pointed, drawing everyone's attention to Zach just as he ate the second ring.

"No!" Joan screamed. "Zach! I knew it was a bad idea to give him those Cheerios during the rehearsal." She looked ready to burst into tears.

Susan knelt down to her son's level and pried his mouth open. It was empty. "Oh, Zach. Didn't that hurt when you swallowed?"

Zach just shrugged, still smiling.

Father Ken groaned and ran a hand over his face as Joan walked into Adam's arms, crying about her ruined wedding. Adam tried to pull his handkerchief out to dry her eyes, only to discover that it was just a stupid little pocket square. He stuffed it back in, feeling very ineffectual.

Grace, however, seemed perfectly calm. "Relax, Girardi. We're not gonna have to stand here while your rings pass through that kid. Did you really think I'd give these to a six year old?" She reached into her pocket and pulled out Adam and Joan's rings. "I got the ones he ate from a gumball machine outside the restaurant after the rehearsal. You'll probably get 'em back in a couple of days." She handed the rings to Father Ken. "Get on with it, Padre."

Grandma Louisa held out her arms and little Zach hurried over to her on the front row of the groom's side. The congregation all laughed and clapped.

Joan couldn't stop herself from hugging Grace quickly before she retook her place beside Adam. She smiled sheepishly at Father Ken and nodded at him to continue.

"Right, uh..." It took him a minute to find his place again, and then he resumed. "The circle is the symbol of wholeness, perfection, and unity. Like circles, these rings have no beginning and no end. They are tokens of the growing relationship that Joan and Adam have come to celebrate and confirm. Adam, you may begin."

"I remember the first time you told me you loved me. You didn't say the words. Do you remember? You said, 'Adam, I don't just like you.' My heart almost exploded in my chest. But at the same time I could barely move. I couldn't believe I'd heard you right. Do you remember what I answered?"

She giggled before answering, "Me, too."

Everyone in the room laughed and Adam and Joan did too, with tears shining in their eyes.

When the laughter died down, he resumed. "You'll think I'm crazy, but I knew right then that I wanted you to be my everything, always. I was so shut down for so long. But ever since I met you, I keep learning to feel things I never have before. It took us a while to get here but we made it. I marry you today because nothing makes me feel as safe and warm as knowing that no matter what happens to me out there in the world, I get to come home to you. You are the most wonderful woman on earth. Only God knows this more than me. Today is the happiest day of my life.

"Here, in the presence of God and everyone I love, I take you, Joan, as my wife."

He placed her ring on her finger.

"Wow, that... last part rhymed," Joan said with a giddy smile.

Again, the crowd broke out in peals of laughter.

When it was quiet again, Joan resumed, "No one I've ever known made me feel anything like what I feel for you. When we were first together, I learned a lot of things: the incredible joy of first love, that relationships take work. And that even the most adorable, empathetic, gentle... unique boy who ever lived isn't perfect, he can still make mistakes and give up on love. Adam, I marry you today because you showed me that that same boy, when he becomes a man, can give himself to the woman that he loves completely—body, mind, heart and soul. Forever.

"Here, in the presence of God and everyone I love, I take you, Adam as my husband."

She placed his ring on his finger.

Father Ken presented the Unity Candle to them. "In the name of the Father," he began as he made the sign of the cross, "and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

Together, Adam and Joan lit the Candle.

Father Ken smiled at them. "By the power vested in me by Our Lord and the State of Maryland, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Adam, you may kiss your Bride."

With tears in their eyes, they melted into a tender kiss. The music rose and the congregation applauded. And Adam and Joan dissolved into laughter at the giddy, loopy emotion of it all. They turned with their heads together and faced their loved ones, smiling with the pure love that filled the room.

It would make a wonderful wedding picture for the mantle, Helen thought as she cried on Will's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and fought back tears of his own.

The organ music of the recessional swelled and in the reverse order that they had entered the cathedral, the wedding party walked out the back of the church: Adam and Joan, first, hands joined. Adam pulled Joan's hand to his lips as they left the room and passed into the foyer. They were immediately followed by Grace and Karen, who walked out arm in arm, beaming with the happiness of their best friends, as well as their own. After Karen and Grace came a grinning and ebullient Jamie and Sue. They were followed by Brody and Lydia, and finally Henry and Lilly.

They formed a receiving line leading toward the front door of the Church. The guests filed out and shook hands with the attendants, the parents, the priest and finally the bride and groom on the way.

Most of the guests remained just outside the Church, waiting for the bride and groom to come out for the bubble serenade. Helen gathered up all of Joan's things from the changing room and went out the back door to put them in the car.

Adam and Joan took advantage of the brief moment they were given to catch their breath in the little sitting room as they waited to be told it was time to leave.

They held each other for a long time, finally relaxing, coming down from the adrenaline rush of the day.

When they parted and she kissed him tenderly, she noticed she had kind of squished the beautiful lapel flower he was wearing. And it dawned on her that it was the same curious purple bloom Cute-Boy God had given her.

"W-where did you get that?"

"Oh," he said, trying to straighten it a bit so it didn't look too damaged. "It was so weird. This lady tossed the one I was going to wear and gave me this. She looked so familiar. I know I've seen her. Older lady, glasses? Is she one of the florists?"

"No, our florists are these two cute, young gay guys, remember? Adam, your flower didn't come from the florist. Neither did my bouquet." She just looked at him, agape.

Finally, he connected the dots. "God does floral arrangements?"

She laughed. "He pretty much does whatever He wants to. It's called the Julie Andrews. It comes from England. You can't even get it here. It's like illegal to import or something. It's really special... delicate. It requires devotion, patience, impossible love."

He removed his jacket, careful not to injure the flower any further and hung it over the back of a chair, then he wrapped his arms around her again. "I think we've got all that covered, don't you?"

The door burst open and half the wedding party was outside it, gawking at them. "Guys, we gotta go, it's time for bubbles!" Luke grinned. He was delighted by the idea of the bubble serenade as the happy couple left the church.

At the Swann House, everything was perfect. The bride's long table was in the back of the room, beautifully decorated. All the other round tables ran along the sides a few deep, with a big, open dance floor in the middle. Near the front of the room, the very grand cake was on display—with Jamal's little joke of a topper on it.

The four-piece band on its riser was already playing as the guests began to arrive. Will had also arrived before them and he was busy making sure his little girl's reception would go off without the tiniest hitch.

By the time Adam and Joan entered, most everyone was in their place. There was applause and laughter, hugs and tears. And eventually, everyone settled in for dinner.

Will clinked his knife against his wine glass to quiet everyone down. "Thanks everyone for coming to my baby girl's wedding. Her mother and brothers and I are proud and happy to share this day with all of you. We hope you all enjoy the party. Before we get started on this beautiful meal and all the other festivities, it's time for the toasts. I believe we'll start with the best man."

Grace cleared her throat and stood. "Um... well, Adam and I have been best friends since... God, since forever. We've been to Hell and back, together. It was always the two of us. Then when we were sixteen this crazy chick moved to Arcadia and Adam fell in love. Don't ask me why, but now he's married to that crazy chick. And we're adults now, with adult problems, and Adam and Joan will deal with them together. From here on out, they'll go to Hell and back together. They'll be best friends. They'll drive each other nuts. One of them will probably end up on my couch for a week at some point. After, wow, almost seven years now, most of it spent apart, these two never fell out of love. So it's pretty obvious... we don't need to wish them luck. We need to wish them sanity."

Everyone laughed and clapped at that.

"Maid of Honor?" Will asked next, looking over at Karen.

She stood. "May Joan always remember that the key to happiness is sharing everything with her new husband, even the housework."

More laughter followed.

"No, seriously," Karen continued, "uh, Joan and Adam are wonderful together. They inspire me. Give me hope. I wish them only the very best now and always."

"Anyone else, before the families take over?" Will offered.

Brody stood. "Just remember, it doesn't matter where you get your appetite, as long as you always eat at home!"

The men laughed. A few boos rose from the women, but then everyone cracked up.

Aunt Louisa stood and cleared her throat, hoping to bring some civility back to the proceedings. _"_Adam, Joan, you're both such sweet souls... I'm a thrilled for you today. Someone once said, ' The man or woman you really love will never grow old to you. Through the wrinkles of time, through the bowed frame of years, you will always see the dear face and feel the warm heart union of your eternal love.' God bless you and keep you."

Helen rose next. "I've already cried a bucket today so I'm gonna to try really hard not to start up again now. Seeing my baby marry the man she loves today has been almost more than my heart could hold. So before the waterworks start up again, I wanted to say, 'It is written: when children find true love, parents find true joy. Here's to your joy and ours, from this day forward.' I love you both so much, I... I think I've really gotta sit down now."

Will asked, "Adam and Joan, would you like to say something?"

Joan looked at Adam encouragingly. He stood slowly, as if he forgot he was going to be expected to speak. He looked from one face to another and found only warm smiles. "Um, seeing all of you here, my family, my friends, everybody I love, I just want to say thank you. For participating in this amazing day, helping me marry this amazing woman. It makes me feel really glad, maybe for the first time, that we didn't actually elope like we wanted to.

My mom and dad aren't physically here today. But I know that they're with us in many ways." His voice broke, but he soldiered on. "My cousin Jamie, in his tux, looks just like my dad in their wedding pictures. I can hardly believe it. And Steffie, my Aunt Maggie's granddaughter, she's so beautiful. She looks just like my mom when she was a little girl. It just... it kinda makes it feel like they are here. And for that, I guess I can only be grateful to God. Who was also here today," Adam said lightly, winking at Joan, who stared at him. "I know you guys won't believe me but He—or _She_ was."

Everyone laughed, and Joan relaxed and took his hand.

"I also want to thank my wife's wonderful family for honoring my parents with those wonderful portraits in the ceremony. And for welcoming me with open arms. This has been an incredible day. It's an honor and a privilege to be part of your lives."

He sat and Joan rose, but she still held onto his hand. "I guess I'm glad we didn't elope, too, because being here with all of you, experiencing this, as overwhelming as it has been at times, has been the greatest joy of my life so far. Special thanks to all of Adam's family for coming in from all over to be with us today, and all my out of town relatives, too. It wouldn't mean nearly as much without every one of you being here to share it with us. We love you all."

Finally, Will stood to give the father's toast. "These two kids have been through a lot over the years. Most of you know that they were each other's first love. For most of us, that first blush of romance doesn't last. For some, nothing else ever comes close. And once in a while, once in a very great while, first love and true love are one in the same. Throughout all their hardships, God has blessed these two young people. They found their way back to each other. And they've sealed their bond forever. It's a proud day for all of us, for Joan's mother and me, and for Carl and Elizabeth Rove." Will raised his glass to Adam's parents. "Thank you for bringing up such a wonderful young man."

"Hear, hear," Helen echoed.

"Cheers!" Will said and everyone raised their glasses. "And _mangia_!"

* * *

While the dinner was being served, Adam's co-worker, Christine, drew the box that sat next to her bread plate toward her. She wondered which favor Adam and Joan had finally settled on. She thought they had decided to go with the bubble baubles as their only favor. But those had been distributed earlier for the bubble serenade at St. Marks. That made sense, since their reception would continue well past dark and of course bubbles worked much better in the daylight. The bottles of bubble soap had been a big hit. And they were really pretty too. The small glass bottles were suspended from lavender lanyards and embossed with Joan and Adam's names and the date in purple and had a butterfly on the plastic cap.

Curiously she slipped the purple satin ribbon and bow from the small, glossy white favor box. Pulling the neatly folded sheets of lavender tissue paper aside, Christine glanced at the contents. It was a reception survival kit! There was a sewing kit and a manicure kit. In the event of headaches or indigestion, there were small packets containing individual doses of Tylenol and Tums. There were Band-aids and a battery operated fan, in case any mishaps or overheating occurred. Rounding out the package were two small glassine bags of purple, white, and lavender M&Ms (one bag of regular chocolate M&Ms and another of the peanut butter flavor), imprinted with Adam and Joan's names and the wedding date.

Christine, no slouch herself in the creativity department, marveled at the thought and work Joan and her mother had put into this favor, such a small detail. She decided that, when it was time for _her_ daughter to get married, she was going to call Helen Girardi.

* * *

As was traditional, the first dance was between the bride and her father. As Will and Joan stepped out onto the dance floor they were both a bit emotional.

"Daddy, thanks so much for all this. Everything's even more beautiful than I ever dreamed. I know it cost you and Mom a fortune," Joan smiled tremulously.

"Oh, honey, you don't know how happy it made us to be able to do this for you. You were the one who paid most of her way through college. Your mother likes to remind me often that you bought most of your clothes in thrift stores..."

"Vintage," his daughter corrected with a grin.

"Vintage," Will agreed smiling. "My point is that you've always worked hard and paid your own way whenever possible. We've helped both your brothers with some big-ticket items. When Kevin bought his place, we helped him outfit it to accommodate his needs. Luke's education..."

"Luke's always had full scholarships, though," Joan said.

"True," Will replied, "but there was housing, books, labs, travel. In his specialty, everything is expensive. I don't think he'll stop costing us money until he starts getting grants. It's better now that he's teaching. But those first few years, even with his scholarships, cost us about double what we would've spent on four years at Arcadia Community College and UMD for you. Which, as I've already mentioned, we didn't need to do because my daughter is a highly capable young woman."

"Thank you," she smiled at him. "But this wedding was certainly a 'big-ticket item'. It was so sweet of you to do it. Especially considering how much you don't like the guy I married." She grinned teasingly.

Laughing, Will rolled his eyes. "This again," he exclaimed. "Honey, I do like Adam, very much. And as long as you stay married, and don't make this all for nothing, I'm prepared to go right on liking him." Will smiled and kissed his daughter's forehead.

Joan laughed. "He won't get a better deal than that anywhere," she told her father. "And, really, thank you. We both appreciate it. So much."

"You're very welcome, Sweetheart. Besides, all I did was write checks. You and your mother did all the work." Will shuddered, remembering Joan and Helen burning the midnight oil, doing all of the alterations to the bridesmaid's dresses, teaching themselves calligraphy so they could hand letter all of the invitations. And, to keep expenses down, they had decided to forego the services of a wedding planner, choosing instead to deal with the endless minutiae themselves. Their round-the-clock efforts had astounded Will.

"Besides," her father added, "you know there isn't anything I wouldn't do to make the two of you happy."

Joan smiled through tears at this. "Me and Adam?"

"No!" Will winked and gave his daughter one of those lopsided smiles of his that she loved so much. "You and your mother. I never really cared much for Adam."

Joan laughed and playfully slapped his arm.

* * *

Also traditional was a first dance between the groom and his mother. Since that wasn't possible in Adam's case, he danced with his aunts—his father's sister, Louisa and his mother's sister, Maggie. Both of them spoke lovingly of their pride in all he had accomplished and assured him that both Carl and Elizabeth would be just as proud and happy for him as they were. He smiled as they spoke, and realized again how, to a great extent, this big wedding he hadn't even wanted was really sewing the tattered remnants of his family back together.

After dancing with his aunts, it was time for his dance with Helen. His earlier nervousness and sadness all but forgotten, he smiled at his mother-in-law.

"Helen, this has all been so beautiful. Thank you... for everything."

"Whoa, honey," she replied. "If you're talking about those pictures, that was just as much Joan's idea..."

Adam interrupted, "I think you know I'm not just talking about the pictures. I'm talking about all of it, everything you've ever done for me. I wanna tell you something. I've wanted to tell you for a really long time..."

She nodded him on, smiling warmly.

"I love you."

Helen didn't speak at first, fearing the waterworks would start again. She just smiled and gently touched Adam's cheek with her palm. "Right back at ya, kiddo."

As their dance turned into a hug, Jamie and Susan, who were dancing beside them, leaned over, so Sue could speak to them.

"Look, Jamie. This can be stops one and two on our apology tour," Sue said.

"Apology? Whatever for," Helen asked.

Jamie laughed, "Uh, for _her_ son's behavior!"

Sue rolled her eyes. "Whenever the boys or the dogs misbehave, they're suddenly all _mine_**."**

Adam chuckled. "How's Zach doing?"

"Oh," his mother sighed, "He's fine." He cried for awhile, when Hunter wouldn't stop making fun of him. But after Hunter spent a few minutes standing in the corner, equilibrium was restored."

More seriously Jamie addressed his cousin and Mrs. Girardi. "We really are sorry. Hope Joan's not too upset."

"No," Helen reassured them. "Please don't worry. Everything turned out fine. I just hope Zach you know, uh, doesn't have any pain."

"Thanks," Susan said.

"He'll be fine. Boys his age bounce, you know," Jamie added.

Adam smiled. "Poor little guy. We had a tense minute or so there, but poor Zach is gonna have to see that video at every family reunion for the rest of his life."

"Or at least the rest of _mine_," Jamie winked.

* * *

"Did you tell her yet?" Karen asked Grace as they danced together.

"Tell who what?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"You really think now's the right time. I don't wanna steal her thunder, I mean it's _their_ day."

Karen laughed. "First, nobody could steal Joan's thunder today. And second, this is the perfect time and place to tell our best friends our news."

Grace smiled and nodded, relenting. "Okay, as soon as I get a minute with one or the other of them."

"Cool." Karen laid her head on her girlfriend's shoulder as they continued their dance. "What a day, huh?"

Grace hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should mention Adam's little disappearing act. She thought better of it, instead wrapping her arms around Karen and sighing with gratitude that it had all worked out. "You said a mouthful," she sighed.

* * *

Grace touched Joan's arm, "I think it's customary for the bride to have a dance with the Best Man."

Joan grinned. "Oh, well. If it's customary..." She stood and walked to the dance floor with Grace.

At first they just laughed about how they must look dancing together and about the wedding and the incident with their ring bearer, but the conversation soon took a more serious turn.

"He's been through an awful lot. Take good care of him, okay, Gi— _Joan_," Grace said.

"That'll take some getting used to, won't it?" Joan giggled, referring to Grace's old habit of calling her by her last name. Then, more seriously, she said, "Taking care of him is all I want to do, Grace. Thank you for getting him this far."

Grace shrugged, as if being Adam's best friend was one of the easier things she'd ever done. Then she said, "Those portraits of his folks were a really nice touch. Your idea?"

"Well, Mom and I came up with it. We knew we wanted to include them somehow. Do you think he thought it was okay? We were gonna let it be a surprise, but Mom chickened out and gave him a hint. In case he was a little rocky today."

Grace snorted, knowing the full extent of Adam's rockiness that afternoon. Then, pulling herself together, she told Joan, "He thought it was a lot more than okay. Dude, I wish you could've seen his face! Your mother can tell you. I hope they caught it on the video. He was blown away." Then, more seriously than Joan had ever seen her friend, Grace said, "God, he loves you so much. You two have to be careful with what you have. It's too important..."

Joan reassured her, "I know it is. It wasn't just hard on _us_ when we were apart, was it? We won't ever let that happen again. I promise."

Grace sought to lighten the conversation a bit, "You know _I_ had a little crush on you when we first met. Just a little one."

Joan giggled lightly, "You're kidding? I never knew that."

"Oh, yeah," Grace grinned. "For at least five minutes, until I realized what a nut you were."

"God, I was _crazy_, wasn't I? You're the best friend I ever had, Grace. You always told me the truth, even when I didn't want to hear it. I really needed that. Still do."

Grace smiled, "Well you're gonna take care of him, right? So let me know if he doesn't take care of you. I'll knock his block off!"

Smiling, Joan said, "We're gonna take care of each other. We just promised we would. Now what are we gonna do about _you_? How are you and Karen doing?"

"We're good. Really good, actually. I finally just had to get some distance from my mom's problems. I mean we all want to help her but, at some point, it's up to her. You know?"

Joan nodded. "Yeah, you can lend her a hand, but you can't let your own life sink or swim on what she does with hers. Right?"

"Exactly. Mom says the same thing, too. She's been doing well and she's got a certain amount of... clarity about things now. Makes me feel like maybe I don't need to worry so much." Grace cleared her throat and she told Joan shyly, "So, um, I've been concentrating on me lately."

"That's great. You should."

"Yeah... Karen and I are getting a place together."

Joan squealed, "Grace, that's amazing! When?"

"Kind of soon. We've looked at apartments. We might even try to buy a house."

"Oh, Grace. That's fantastic!"

"Take it easy. There's not gonna be another wedding. Not right now anyway."

"Yeah," Joan replied. "But Maryland gets closer all the time to having some decent Civil Union laws."

"Let's hope," Grace said ruefully. "Dad told me that, as soon as they do, he'll perform a commitment ceremony for us whenever we're ready."

"Well, if you two decide you don't want to wait that long, you know Adam and I would come up to Vermont or Massachusetts or wherever and stand up for you guys. Just say the word."

"I'm sure you'll be first to know," Grace assured her.

"Oh, this is so exciting," Joan exclaimed. "I have to tell him."

"I'll do that. Go congratulate your maid of honor," Grace smiled, accepting a big hug from Joan as their dance ended.

* * *

While Joan and Grace danced, Adam was having a dance with Grace's mom. "Adam," Sarah said. "I've been hearing your mother's laughter all day. She would've loved all of this so much!"

"Yeah," Adam asked tremulously.

"Definitely she would. It's all so beautiful and creative. Just like _she_ was. She and Carl would both be so proud and happy."

"Sometimes I think I'd give almost anything if Mom could know Joan."

She put her hand on his chest. "She knows. A mother knows her child's heart. She feels your love for Joan."

Adam smiled down at her. It was a lovely thought. Sarah returned his smile and gave him a quick hug just as the song ended. As she was about to leave the dance floor, Rabbi Polonski asked his wife for the next dance.

* * *

Adam decided to sit the next one out. He grabbed a chair at one of the tables as Grace came and joined him. As they watched, Joan rushed over to Karen and gave her a big hug. The two of them started laughing and talking.

Adam turned to Grace. "Hey, what's that all about?"

"Well, I just told your wife, so it'll be all over the room in under five minutes. I had to restrain her from broadcasting it over the PA system," Grace joked. "Karen and I are moving in together."

Adam grinned, "What? That's great, Grace. It's about time." He, too, insisted on giving her a big hug.

"Hey, what gives? You and Joan are both so grabby today," Grace mockingly huffed, but still returning Adam's hug.

"Yeah, well, it's our wedding day. We're happy. You're just gonna have to suck it up," Adam smiled.

"Fine," Grace rolled her eyes. "Of course Joan wanted to talk wedding plans. She totally has weddings on the brain. I told her we knew where to come if we ever need a best man and matron of honor."

"When's the big move," Adam asked.

"We're still looking for a place. I don't know when we'll get it all together," she said.

"We're helping Jamal's family move pretty soon after we get back from the honeymoon. If you get it together by then, Joan and I have the U-Haul rented for the whole weekend..."

"I'll keep that in mind," she smiled.

Adam grew more serious. "Grace, I don't how I can ever thank you enough. For all the..."

"Cut it, Rove!" she retorted.

"All right," he smiled. "I'll let you off the hook. I just want you to know how much I appreciate...," he stopped when she glared at him. "Because you've saved my ass a million times," he got that in there.

Grace grinned, "And that was just _today_."

* * *

Luke was talking with one of his Chicago cousins when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Grace.

She smiled. "Dance with me?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Luke grinned, taking her hand.

"_You_ could've, you know."

"And I would've," he assured her. "I talked with your folks. Your mom seems... great."

"Yeah, she's been doing pretty well. We got her into this clinical trial for a detox drug that Joan found out about. It was rocky there for awhile but she seems to have pulled back from the edge. We're 'cautiously optimistic'."

"Taxtroxarone? That's great. I read some of the preliminary research when it was still in the early developmental stages. Sounded promising."

"Yeah, so far so good," she said hopefully.

"How are you and Karen doing?"

"Great. We're... moving in together."

"Cool," he smiled genuinely. "I'm happy for you. I really like her."

"She likes you too. It's funny to think about it now, but she was all set to be jealous of you before she met you."

He laughed and shook his head.

"What's going on with you? How's your love life?" Grace cringed as soon as the question passed her lips. "Oh God, did I really just say that? I sound like a t-shirt from the 70's."

"It's OK," he smiled, "As a matter of fact, I've kind of had a long dry spell lately. But I think things are looking up."

"There's a girl?"

"There's a girl," he said. "I really like her but I've been reluctant to pursue it. I think I just need to get my head out of my... _head_, kind of."

"Or out of your ass," Grace grinned.

Luke laughed. "Yeah, maybe it _is_ time I dived back into the dating pool. I think Adam may have talked me out of my complacency."

Grace snickered. "Rove did that? Oh, Geek, please tell me you're not taking relationship advice from _him_. Do you realize how much spit and baling wire it took to get him this far? And now he's taking bows and doling out advice like he did it all by himself?"

"Hey," Luke laughed, "don't be dissing my brother-in-law. Now that he's all set, you think maybe you've got some spit and baling wire left over for me?"

Grace smiled and shook her head, "Oh, you boys and your hormones are gonna be the _death_ of me!"

* * *

Will offered cigars to each of Adam's attendants. Brody and Henry accepted gratefully, while both Jamie and Grace declined. Overhearing this, Lilly asked for and received Grace's cigar.

"Will," Helen protested, "we're at Joan's wedding, not the maternity ward. Why are you passing out cigars?"

Will laughed. "There will be no cigars passed out in any maternity wards. I won't permit smoking anywhere near any of our grandchildren."

Helen smiled, happy to learn that she had her husband as an ally in her longing for grandbabies. Her 'grandma jones,' as her daughter called it.

"Well," she flirted, "if you've finished taking care of our new son-in-law's groomsmen, how about asking me to dance?"

Leading his wife to the dance floor, Will told her, "Helen, after almost thirty years I'm still dancing with the best looking girl in the room."

"Aww, go on," she smiled, slipping into her husband's arms. "Seriously, _go on_!"

* * *

"You getting tired, my angel?" Adam cooed in Joan's ear as they danced together. Her eyes were so dreamy as she looked at him, it made his knees weak.

"Nah... You?"

He shook his head. "I'm good." He was suddenly very aware of his palm, warm against her bare back. "By the way, your dress..."

"Yeah?"

"You were right. I swear, I really did almost pass out. You look so stunning, I can barely stand it."

"Really?"

He nodded. She laid her head against his shoulder and felt his arms come around her as they continued to move to the music.

* * *

Lilly stood glumly and watched all of the couples on the dance floor. Helen came and stood beside her.

"Smile, Lilly. It's a party," Helen said, putting an arm around her shoulder.

Lilly tried to be in a better mood, for her hostess's sake. "It was a fantastic wedding, Helen. You and Joan should really be proud."

"Thank you," she smiled. "Now what's wrong? Is it hard watching the dancing, because Kevin can't..."

"Nah, I'm not much of a dancer, either." She frowned. "It's not the dancing. It's the _coupling_."

"Oh, no," Helen sighed. "Are you two fighting again?"

"No," Lilly said, choking back tears. "I think maybe we've reached a sort of an impasse. I mean is he _serious_ about me? Like, at all?"

"He's never been more serious about anyone in his life. He's in love with you, Lilly. I'm sure of it. For the past five years, even with all the ups and downs, there hasn't been _anyone_ else..."

"Exactly! It's been _five years_. And he's never once told me how he feels about me. Has he _ever_ said the words? To anyone?"

Exasperatedly Helen said, "He used to say it all the time. And he _used to_ go through girls like Kleenex!" In a softer voice she said, "Please don't hold it against him that now, when he really means it, he can't say the words. He's not the same person he used to be. And, yes, a lot of it is because of the accident, but a lot of it is because of you, too."

"You really think so?"

"I'm sure of it," Helen repeated. "You're the first person he's ever been involved with who challenges him, who sees something in him besides the surface charm. He doesn't want to lose that. He doesn't want to lose _you_. Come on Lilly, you're not shy. If there's something you need from him that you're not getting, tell him."

* * *

After dinner, Brody and Henry decided to enjoy their cigars. They walked around the back of the building to the kitchen entrance so that the smoke wouldn't bother anyone arriving or leaving the reception. They were surprised to find Lilly there, enjoying hers.

"Hey, boys," she smiled, puffing on her Cohiba. "So, Brody, I hear you really throw one hell of a bachelor party!"

"I tried," Brody sighed. "Grace and the groom did everything they could to foul it up, though."

"Well, _I_ had a good time," Henry grinned. "How was Joan's party? Pretty tame?"

"Yeah," Lilly smiled angelically. "We did get a little tipsy, though. We'd wanted to go to that male strip club downtown, but Helen nixed that," she said regretfully.

Both men laughed. "Were you really a nun," Brody asked.

"Yep," she said. "Sure was. But only for about seven years."

The three of them chatted for a few more minutes. While they were talking, Henry noticed something. He pointed to a car parked way behind the building, in the employee lot, next to a dumpster, behind a large tree. "Isn't that Adam's Subaru," he asked.

Brody snorted. "Why do people even bother trying to put things over on me? Total futility. It's sad, really."

"Should we?" Henry asked.

"Oh," Brody replied, "I think we _have_ to. You in, Lilly?"

"Nah," she said, finishing her cigar. "I'd better get back inside. It's almost time to cut the cake. I'll leave you to it. You boys have fun."

"Hey, why not a dance with your big brother?" Kevin asked as he rolled up to Joan.

She just smiled at him. "Want to try standing?"

He shook his head. He slapped his legs, indicating that she should sit in his lap. "What's wrong with doing it my way?"

"My dress," she grumbled. She shifted on his lap and bunched her dress up so it wasn't near his wheels.

"Aw, come on," Kevin smiled, turning on the charm. "It's not like you're ever gonna wear it again."

"True enough," his sister grinned.

"I never thought you'd get married before me, you know. I never thought there was a guy crazy enough to agree to marry you." She jabbed her heel into his shin. "Ow," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, it's true. You got lucky finding Adam."

"Obviously no girl's crazy enough to marry you," she countered.

Kevin almost flinched and glanced over his shoulder at where Lilly was standing, talking to Father Ken.

"Is everything ok with you and Lilly?"

He nodded. "It's been five years. On and off... but still five years."

"More off than on," she remarked. He gave her a look. "But you've never been with someone that long, not even Beth."

He let out a breath and nodded.

"Do you love her?"

He grumbled something under his breath.

"What?"

"I don't wanna jinx it."

"You've _never _told her?" Joan asked incredulously.

He shook his head. "I asked her to move in with me a couple times. Shouldn't that give her a clue?"

"Kevin! Girls don't want a _clue._ We need to hear it. Tell Lilly how you feel about her."

"If she hasn't figured it out by now—"

"You are _not_ Will Girardi's son. What, did you fall off a turnip truck or something?"

"All right, enough with the wise-ass."

Joan nodded, letting him off the hook. It was obvious he was miserable. "So she said no?" Joan asked.

He nodded. "It still scares her. Five years. And it still scares her."

Joan shrugged. "Moving in together is a big step. And how is she supposed to feel comfortable doing that if she doesn't even know how you feel about her?"

"Come on! It's not like I go around asking girls I meet on the side of the road to move in with me."

"You'd better not!" She gave him a look. "Just talk to her. Be honest with her. If you can't say the words, find another way to tell her how you feel. But _tell_ her."

* * *

Once everyone was finished with their dinner, Joan and Adam moved to the table in front of the room to cut their wedding cake. Since this part of the day was largely a 'photo-op', they made sure that the photographer took plenty of pictures of the uncut cake with both of Jamal's cake toppers, both alone and with Adam and Joan posing with them. They wanted Jamal to see how well his creations worked on the cake and, as much as possible, to feel as though he had been there with them on their big day.

Once they made sure that they had full 'Jamal Coverage', they posed for the traditional shots: cutting the first slices, feeding them to each other, etc. Thankfully they didn't indulge in the juvenile smashing of the cake in each other's faces. Adam didn't know about Joan, but he'd had enough 'juvenile' that week to last for quite some time.

When they were finished posing for photographs, Joan and Adam moved away from the table. Joan's attendants and Grace stepped forward to finish slicing and plating the cake's four layers for the wedding guests. Each layer was a different flavor: the bottom a plain white cake with vanilla buttercream filling, the second lemon with lemon curd filling, the third chocolate with a very rich ganache filling, and the top layer was Joan and Adam's favorite: Italian Cream Cake. Traditionally this top layer was frozen and eaten by the bride and groom on their first anniversary. However, since there were so many guests, their baker had made (and flash-frozen) a replica of the top layer for that purpose, which was now residing in Helen's deep freeze. Every delicious morsel of this beautiful cake would be consumed on their wedding day.

* * *

In the employee parking lot behind the Swann House, next to the dumpster, Brody and Henry were looking at Adam's car.

"I saw a grocery store about a mile from here. Should we go and pick up shoe polish and shaving cream," Henry asked.

"No need," Brody laughed. He gestured Henry to the main guest parking area. "Come with me."

When they moved Brody's truck to the back and parked it next to Adam's Forester, Brody got out and ripped off the tarp in the back with a flourish. "I wasn't a boy scout, but I do believe in being prepared."

"I can see that," Henry laughed.

Inside the back of Brody's truck was everything anyone would ever need to decorate a newlywed's car. There was a box full of beer cans and old shoes, already strung together and ready to be tied onto a bumper. There was a large can of shaving cream and shoe polish in every hue. And there was a box filled up with every color and variety of condom on the market, including the kind Brody's new girlfriend, Candida, liked to call "the bumpy ones."

"What are _those_ for," Henry asked, referring to the last items.

"We're gonna make some balloons, Henry."

Henry demurred. "I'm not blowing up any rubbers," he said.

"No," Brody assured him. "_We're_ not." He reached back further under the tarp, pulling out a portable helium tank.

"You don't miss a trick, do you," Henry laughed.

* * *

Pictures were taken as Joan tossed the bouquet. There was a scramble, but it landed in Karen's hands. And she wasn't even trying to catch it. Everyone clapped and Karen sought out Grace's eyes. Instead of being embarrassed, Grace only smiled at her gorgeous girlfriend.

Now it was his turn. Adam gulped as he removed the purple garter from Joan's leg. He flung it over his shoulder and Kevin caught it, just inches from his head. He laughed. Lilly did too. "Leave it to love to almost knock my block off," he said. Lilly leaned down and kissed his forehead. He pulled her into his lap. Twirling the garter on his finger, he looked lost in thought. Finally he seemed to make up his mind about something. Drawing Lilly's eyes to his he held her hand and said, "Lilly, I don't just _like_ you."

Looking just as moved as Adam had all those years earlier, Lilly leaned in and kissed him.

* * *

It was nearly 10:00 p.m. Dinner was long over and their beautiful wedding cake was completely consumed.

Adam and Joan had admired the wedding presents they'd received from those who hadn't attended any of the showers or couldn't attend the wedding, including a hilarious one they'd received from Helen's Aunt Olive. It was a statuette that depicted, according to Olive's note, the Norse god Freyr – who was "a phallic deity that represented fertility and love." What the note didn't say, but was obvious to all of Joan and Adam's wedding guests, was that the statuette depicted Freyr in a well-endowed and extremely exaggerated state of arousal.

Helen spent much of the reception trying to hide Olive's gift. But someone—Helen suspected Luke and her father—kept bringing it back out to the main room for all to see. Helen was mortified, lest Father Ken or Rabbi Polonski see it. Father Ken tactfully pretended not to notice and, for the record, both Rabbi and Mrs. Polonski were highly amused.

Following the bouquet and garter toss, it was almost time for Joan and Adam to leave. They changed into their traveling clothes: Joan wore a very pretty but comfortable dress and Adam wore neatly pressed jeans with a dress shirt and jacket. Following a hurried consultation with his Aunt Louisa and his father-in-law, Adam made a quick cell phone call. He held up all ten of his fingers. _Ten minutes_ he signaled to Lou, Will and Joan.

Five minutes later their family and friends assembled on the spacious Swann House front porch and surrounding grounds to see the couple off on their honeymoon. They all laughed because Brody had opened Adam's car, popped it into neutral and rolled it up onto the large circular driveway out front.

He and Henry had really done a thorough job. In addition to the fairly traditional shoes and beer cans tied to the bumper, there were quite a number of purely Brody-esque touches. There were several amusingly naughty verses written on the car's hood and doors including:

_Once a King  
Always a King  
But Once a (K)night  
Is Enough_

Henry had done some pretty obscene nude line drawings that would get the car pulled over before they'd driven a block. And there were dozens of helium-filled condoms floating above the Forester, attached to strings.

Brody took bows for the job they had done. When Adam first caught sight of his car, Henry and Brody both slapped him on the back. "We got you, didn't we Buddy?"

"Oh, you sure did," Adam replied with a tight smile. He caught sight of Grace glowering at Brody. He winked at her.

Will put an arm around Brody's shoulder. "Listen, Brody, I spoke to the man who rented you the ball and chain that you used on Adam. That was _very_ funny, by the way. He agreed with me that it was totally unacceptable to have rented them to you without having the proper key to unlock them. He refunded you triple the rental amount to keep the matter out of small claims court."

Will held out a check, which Brody eagerly reached for. He tried to pull it from Will's fingers but Will held on firmly. "I'm sure that you'll want to use this money to have Adam's car detailed. Am I right?" He looked hard at Adam's groomsman.

"Yes, sir...," Brody said with resignation. "...just as soon as they get back from the honeym..."

At that moment a limousine pulled into the driveway. The driver stopped and got out to open the door for Joan, who was giggling.

Brody and Henry both stared with their mouths hanging open. Grace's anger transformed into laughter.

Brody thought of something. "But your luggage—," he pulled a woman's cosmetics bag from the back seat of the Forester.

"It's already loaded," Adam smiled. "I don't know whose that is. Thanks for everything. Bye, everybody." And he climbed into the limo beside Joan and closed the door.

Louisa walked up to Brody and took the bag. "Thank you, young man! I'll need that to put my face on in the morning, won't I?"

Will tossed Brody Adam's keys. "Better go ahead and get it out of here," Will smiled, nodding toward Adam's Subaru. "Rabbi Polonski tells me they're hosting a Bar Mitzvah here tomorrow. Bring it by our place in the morning after you get it cleaned up, will you? We'll keep an eye on it while the kids are out of town."

"Yes, sir," Brody gulped, knowing he'd been had. Before today, Brody had only seen Will Girardi at his most genial. Adam had told him before how Joan's father had the ability to go all menacing when the situation called for it. Now he had experienced 'Fat Tony' first hand.

Lou was really enjoying this. Her son had told her about Brody's various activities at Adam's bachelor party. She took Brody's arm and walked him over to Adam's car. She indicated the condoms floating high above the Subaru. "You are really a bright young man. Why, I'll bet getting all that weight off the wheel base will _really_ improve gas mileage." She smiled and patted his cheek, just a little bit harder than was really comfortable.

By now Grace was laughing so hard that she had to sit down on the steps of the Swann House. Watching all of this from the back of their limo, Joan and Adam were laughing just as hard. They waved from the back window as the limousine pulled away and they made their escape.


	35. Sunny Honeymoon

_**Chapter 28  
Sunny Honeymoon**_

_by Sisterdebmac & Carol_

* * *

_**Deb's Author's Note:**  
Thank heavens for Carol. She has been such a blessing. She almost single-handedly saved the wedding chapter and her contributions to this chapter have also been amazing. You rock! And thanks to TeeJay for the Beta read and notes!_

_**Carol's Author's Note:**  
Thanks to both Deb and TeeJay for allowing me to take another visit inside "Butterflies". It is more fun than I can ever say. I'm so in love with these characters that I'm forever grateful to these two wonderful writers for continuing to pour new life into them. I've never written in such a collaborative atmosphere before. You're the best! _

_**Synopsis:**  
Adam and Joan go to Hotel Cabo San Lucas for their honeymoon._

_**Rating:**  
PG_

_**Genre:**  
Total Fluff. After everything they've been through these two deserve an angst-free honeymoon, no? _

_**Disclaimer:**  
They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah._

* * *

Adam and Joan took a limo to the Hotel Wexler in downtown Baltimore. They stayed the night and took the same limo to the airport the next day. Then they flew to Cabo San Lucas. It was beautiful there. They saw lots of sights, took a boat trip, shopped, ate and had lots of fun.

The End

_(for the real story, see Butterflies: The Unadulterated Version)_


	36. Arcadia High Class Of 2006

_**Chapter 29  
**_**Arcadia High Class Of 2006**

_by Sisterdebmac & TeeJay_

* * *

_**Sisterdebmac's Author's Note:  
**We have a rule around here. There is a character who has remained nameless for the entire run of this fic. Until now. Ironically, I insisted on the rule. Because I was so sick of reading about it. And I wanted it not to be a factor for Joan and Adam five years on. I guess this is an attempt to lay it to rest, finally._

_**TeeJay's Author's Note:  
**This one was mostly written and conceived by Deb, but it was fun adding to it. And it was more fun seeing some of these beloved characters again. Okay, not all of them are beloved, you'll know what I mean when you read on. Enjoy!_

_**Special Additions**__ by Laura, who brought the funny in a troublesome scene. And Carol who took it even deeper. You guys have been so important to the recent evolution of Butterflies. _

_We'd like to thank all the readers of Butterflies and especially those who have reviewed it. Your comments make us want to keep pushing on even when it's hard. _

_**Synopsis:  
**Joan and Adam attend their five year high school reunion and God gives Joan her first assignment in months. One that she is not too happy with. One that stirs up old demons._

_**Rated PG-13 **__for adult situations._

_**Genre: **__A little drama, a little fluff._

_**Disclaimer:  
**They're not mine... blah blah blah. Barbara Hall... blah blah blah. CBS... blah blah blah. With apologies once again to all of the above._

* * *

The banner over the door read:

_WELCOME ARCADIA HIGH, CLASS OF 2006 – 5 YEARS AND COUNTING!_

Joan and Adam stopped for a second and glanced at each other as they drew a breath, staring up at it. Then he smiled down at her and slipped his arm around her and she felt her strength return.

So why was He the first person she should run into after entering the high school gym?

Adam felt her slump against him just a little and he looked down at her, concerned. Her eyes were on that Marilyn Manson guy she was always talking to back in school. He volunteered to help with the reunion? Must be. He was taking tickets and handing out nametags at the door.

Joan stared Him up and down. He didn't look much different. Same spiky hair, same black clothes, black nail polish, black lipstick and eyeliner. Were there still Goths? Not something she had thought about in oh, say, five years.

She approached him sheepishly, glancing at Adam, who walked beside her, his arm still around her waist.

"Hi Joan," Goth-God said, holding out nametags that read, Joan Girardi Rove and Adam Rove.

She took them and handed Adam his. They put them on. "You? I didn't realize You'd be here."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

Adam looked confused by the exchange, but thankfully he said nothing. She would explain later, if she had to.

The line at the door was backing up behind them, so Goth-God ushered them on in. "I'd like to talk to you later," He told her.

"Of course You would," she smiled sarcastically as they walked away.

* * *

Grace was already inside with Karen. Standing to the side of the large room, the two of them were chatting with Luke. Both Karen and Grace were glad to see that he'd been able to drive down from Boston in time for the reunion.

Luke looked around. The gym felt somehow both alien and familiar. It was hard to think of it of the place where they had run around in sports gear to the butch commands of Coach Keady. Now, darkly lit with colored lights and mirror balls, balloons and banners decorating the corners, it was like a completely different place.

He took a sip from his beer. He noticed that Grace seemed to be a bit preoccupied and on edge. He watched her as she left the two of them for a moment, ostensibly to get some refreshments for her and Karen, but really to walk off some excess energy.

"What's wrong," Luke murmured to Karen.

"She's preemptively annoyed," Grace's partner told him. "She's convinced that Friedman's gonna be an asshole... you know, about us."

Luke laughed a little and reassured Karen. "Nah, don't worry. I called him last week and made him promise not to be a jerk."

Karen smiled. "Cool. I appreciate that, Luke. She came here tonight fully prepared to 'tear him a new one' if he pulls anything. What's his deal, anyway?"

"He's got the highest IQ of any idiot in the world. But it's been five years since we've seen him. He's married, he's even a _dad. _He's bound to have matured a little bit."

"Let's hope so." Karen saw Grace coming towards them from the corner of her eye. "Here she comes," she told Luke. "Let's see if we can keep her distracted."

Grace rejoined the two of them and visibly relaxed as Karen and Luke kept the conversation light. Her tension returned as they saw Friedman approaching their group. He still looked the same old Friedman. Curly hair that was just a little too long and unruly and clothes that, had it not been Friedman wearing them, would scream Salvation Army. But somehow, on him, they almost looked trendy.

"Hi, guys," he grinned, greeting Grace and Luke.

"Hey, Friedman. How's life in Texas?" Luke said, touching fists with his high school buddy.

"Couldn't be better! Hey, Grace. Great to see you! How's it going?" Friedman's manner was completely natural, betraying no traces of sarcasm or his old abrasive personality.

"Um... I'm great." It almost came out like a question as she looked at Luke, puzzled by the seeming normality of Friedman. She watched him glance at Karen and smile, genuinely.

"Who's this lovely young lady?"

"She's... my girlfriend, Karen," Grace responded defiantly.

"Ah," Friedman nodded, reaching out for her hand. "Enchanté," he said, bending forward to kiss it. He grinned at his old buddy and his old verbal sparring partner. "The Friedman still has a little conversational French in his arsenal," he winked.

Grace smiled sardonically. It wasn't smarmy. It was actually kind of cute. Good Lord! Had he really gone all human on them? He did seem like he'd grown up, but she wasn't sure she bought it. "OK," she said, "go ahead. Let's hear it."

"What?" he asked, in apparent confusion.

"You know what," she smirked. "Go ahead and say 'I told you so' or 'I knew she was playing for the other team'..."

Friedman gave her a sincere smile. "Are you happy?" he asked.

"Yeah," she responded, still waiting for the insults to come.

"Well, then I'm happy for you." It wasn't something she ever would've expected so she wasn't prepared to defend herself when he drew her into his arms for a big bear hug. While he was hugging Grace, he caught Luke's eye. Raising his eyebrows, he reached out his right hand. He rubbed his thumb against his fingertips in the universal gesture that meant _pay up, buddy._

Luke rolled his eyes and withdrew his wallet from his pocket. Glaring, he handed Friedman a 50 dollar bill. Karen caught the exchange and stifled a giggle. Grace, at last convinced of his good intentions, patted Friedman on the back.

Joan and Adam approached their four friends, who were deep into their conversation.

"So, Friedman, what are you up to these days?" Joan asked him.

"Actually, I'm working for NASA."

Adam smiled politely. "NASA, huh? Impressive."

"I know," Friedman grinned.

"What do you do?"

"I developed a Space Waste system," he said with great pride.

"Which is..."

"Basically, I get rid of space poop."

Adam made a face.

Friedman continued, unperturbed, "I guess you should know, the stuff on your car in the morning isn't always from birds."

Luke returned from grabbing another drink, "So, Friedman, what are you working on these days?"

Adam put a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder and shook his head a little.

Luke took the hint and changed the subject. "I heard you had twins."

"Yeah, Isaac and Buzz."

"After Aldrin?" Luke asked, referring to the latter name.

"Lightyear," Friedman deadpanned.

* * *

Grace, Karen and Joan wandered around for a while until Joan spotted a young blond woman, talking to an older woman. Joan recognized her right away. "Glynis?" she asked.

Glynis turned around and smiled. "Oh, wow, Joan!" She hugged her awkwardly. Grace stepped back to avoid another unsolicited hug.

"Female Girardi, or should I say Female Rove," the older woman said, catching sight of her name tag.

"Ms. Lischak? Or Female Tuchman, so I hear," Joan smiled. "Are you still teaching?"

She nodded. "Chemistry and Physics."

"You mean we didn't ruin those for you?" Joan asked.

"Oh, no. Love of science can't be taken away by two years with a few surly students."

There was a groan behind them and they saw Price walk by in a neck brace, supporting himself with a cane.

"What happened to him?" Grace asked.

"Oh, he's principal now—"

"Say no more," Joan told her.

"I should go help him." Ms. Lischak, or rather Tuchman left and went quickly in Price's direction.

Joan turned her attention to Glynis. "So what have you been doing?"

"I'm a kindergarten teacher. I'm working to get my degree."

Joan nodded a little and then caught sight of her name tag. Her jaw literally dropped. "Friedman? You married Friedman?"

Glynis smiled. "Oh, yes. We have twins."

"That's right, Girardi, Friedman reproduced! Luke didn't tell you?" Grace looked about ready to throw up as she watched Glynis proudly pull out pictures of her little bundles of joy.

"Isaac and Buzz. Named after Asimov and Aldrin," Glynis explained with that same breathless energy she'd always had.

"Oh God. They're mini-Friedmans. Jew-fro and all," Grace said.

Joan quickly took the opportunity to sneak away from the group and head for the snack table. After surveying her choices, she grabbed a plate and started loading up various cookies.

"So, enjoying the reunion, Joan?" A voice beside her asked.

She looked up and saw Goth-God. "Sure. Aren't You?"

"Actually, I am. Very much."

"You're not here by accident are You?"

"Never."

"OK, so what is it this time?" Joan huffed at Him.

"There's a nametag on the table over there that's going to be picked up very soon. Someone you really need to talk to."

"Is this an assignment?"

"You could call it that," he said knowingly.

"Who is it?"

"You'll know. Just remember how good things are for you. Not everyone is so fortunate." He smiled at her, a rare smile that almost looked out of place for his usual austere demeanor, and then turned away with a wave over His shoulder.

She watched Him walk out the door.

Half an hour later, when Joan returned with Grace from the ladies room, Joan's eyes scanned the room. Adam was nowhere in sight. They took a stroll around the gym, asking a few people along the way if they'd seen him. But he wasn't there. They waited a while, figuring he must've been in the men's room. He still wasn't back after fifteen minutes, and suddenly Joan had a thought.

She excused herself from her friends and walked down the empty hallway, around a corner to a door marked, "Roof - No Student Access". She tested the knob and found it to be unlocked.

Stepping out onto the roof in the crisp night air, Joan was hit by a flood of memories. He was here, just as she guessed he would be. He stood near the edge, holding onto the metal girders, staring out into the night. The door closed behind her with a thud and he turned toward the sound.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he smiled back at her, holding a hand out to her.

She moved in and took it. "What are you doing up here?" She threaded her fingers through his and stood by his side.

"Reminiscing."

"Yeah?"

"We had some... good times up here."

"We sure did."

He leaned over and kissed her very softly, like he did all those years ago. Right here.

"I remember the first time I found you up here," she said with a sigh. "You told me you came here to get away from the noise and the people."

"And then it changed from running away from them, to running away to you."

She slid her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder, feeling his arms close around her as well. "Hey," she whispered, smiling up at him. "Wanna make out?"

He answered her with a kiss and she instinctively pressed their bodies together. He deepened the kiss automatically. Until he wasn't pretending anymore and it was no longer the kiss of a young boyfriend, until it was the kiss of a husband.

"We used to get pretty hot and heavy up here," she whispered.

"Yeah," he sighed against her.

It was all just so deliciously dangerous. Anyone could walk in. _And then what? _Adam wondered. They were married, for God's sake. And it wasn't like they were really doing it in public. No one ever came up here. Well, someone was about to. He couldn't stop a tiny laugh from escaping him.

"What?" she asked, puzzled by his laughter.

"This is crazy," he laughed joyfully and held her tighter.

"You... make me so..." Adam sighed near her right ear.

"What?" She asked him with a very warm, moist kiss on his jaw.

"Happy," he sighed against her.

"I love you too."

* * *

Back in the gym, Joan rejoined Grace as Adam ducked into the men's room.

"Where the hell did you disappear to? I had to _talk_ to people," Grace said accusingly.

"Sorry, uh, I went to find Adam."

"Did you?"

"Yeah," Joan laughed. "Uh, he was..." she wondered if she should confide the little adventure of the Two-Story High Club to Grace.

"What?"

"He was up on the roof," Joan said, giving her a kind of tilt of the head with a little eyebrow action.

It dawned on Grace pretty quickly, "OK, don't share."

"Grace, you're reverting to type here, going old school on me. You're not that uncomfortable with this stuff anymore."

She nodded and shrugged in gruff concession, "So... um, you actually got it on up there?"

Joan nodded.

Grace smiled in spite of herself, wondering where Karen was at that very moment. For a fleeting second she wondered if her girl might like a tour of the biology closet. Then she saw someone across the crowded gym that gave her a chill. A very unpleasant one. She couldn't pull her gaze from the curvy brunette in the designer dress. Her hair was way too coolly coiffed. From her sophisticated clothes and hairstyle to her professional mani-pedi, everything about her boasted of grooming that no one had ever known her to possess. She was damn near elegant.

Joan followed her suddenly silent friend's blank stare to its subject. "Who's that?" she asked.

"You don't recognize her?"

"No. Should I?" Joan narrowed her eyes.

"Yeah you should! She screwed around with your husband back in the day."

Joan did a double-triple-quadruple take. "No way!"

Grace nodded. "Talk about an extreme make-over, huh?"

"I'll say!" Joan whispered. "Wow. She's almost pretty now."

"And successful. She's had three books of her paintings published. Her stuff shows all over the world."

Joan was about to ask Grace why she knew so much about the little skank when Adam rejoined them then and wrinkled his forehead at their strange, frozen expressions. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Your... first," Joan choked out.

"My first what?" asked sweet, oblivious Adam.

"You know... your first lay," Joan clarified pointedly.

Adam looked to where they were looking, his eyes still in a squint. His face fell when he finally recognized her. Bonnie. "Oh. Uh... Wow," was all he could manage.

Joan and Grace both looked at him.

"She's... sure different, huh?" He fixed his gaze on Joan, softening, "Is this gonna be a problem for you? Seeing her?"

Joan looked at the other woman from so very long ago and then back at her husband. "Nah. You're mine now." She smiled at him.

From across the room, Bonnie turned and laid eyes on the subdefectives for the first time just as Joan pulled Adam in for a nice, long kiss, oblivious to Bonnie's attention.

* * *

Adam and Joan stood at the bar, waiting for a fresh round of drinks when they suddenly heard a familiar voice from behind. "Joan. Adam. You made it, too."

They both turned around to face Steve Ramsey. Adam hadn't seen him since he left high school after he was arrested, but he looked about the same. He just nodded as Joan said, "Totally. Wouldn't want to miss this freak show. Would you?"

"Not for the world," Steve chuckled, and Adam was pleasantly surprised at how open and friendly he seemed now. Joan was right, it did seem as if he had changed a lot for the better.

Steve looked from Joan to Adam. "I saw Joan, what, three months ago at that conference? She told me you two were together."

Adam lifted his left hand, to show his wedding ring. "We're married, actually."

"Yeah," Joan said, indicating her nametag.

Steve lifted his eyebrows when he read it. "Wow. Congratulations are in order. Here, let me get your drinks," he told them just as the bartender put a beer bottle for Adam and a wine glass for Joan onto the counter. Steve paid for them and handed the drinks to the two of them. He looked at Adam, "I guess the beer is for you?"

Adam nodded and smiled at him. "Thanks. I hear you're not doing so badly yourself. You're a—"

"Joan?" came a familiar voice, cutting in. "Joan G-Girardi?"

Joan turned towards the voice, recognizing the person right away. "Scott. So glad you could make it."

"Y-Yeah, I flew in from Con...necticut."

Joan had to hide a smile. She was so glad to see him. She'd heard he was working for a big news site and she wanted to hear all about it. She lightly touched Adam's shoulder. "Excuse me, honey. I'm gonna go talk to Scott."

She looked at Ramsey. "Steve, we'll talk later."

"Sure," he nodded. And she was off.

Adam turned his attention back to Ramsey. "So, you're a social worker now?"

"Yep. Guess I kinda found my calling."

"That's great," Adam said. "I'm glad things worked out for you."

"Yeah, you know," Steve hesitated for a moment, "I did a lot of stuff I'm not proud of. I was mad at the world back in school and I was such a dick. Bullied people and all. I wailed on you once, didn't I?"

Adam absent-mindedly touched his lip, even though that incident was years in the past. He gave Steve a small smile. "Yes, you did. But I think I was much more upset about Joan going to that dance with you, and running off with you, than I was about a fat lip and a sore gut. I thought you were stealing her away from me, you big mook," Adam nudged him. "I didn't know she was—" Oops. He froze. What was he about to say? _Working for God to save your hide?_

"What?" Steve asked, encouraging him to finish his thought.

Adam only shrugged. How could he explain?

Steve saw the wall going up so he let Adam off the hook. "Hey, I didn't even know you liked her, man. Not that it would've made any difference. I was out of my mind that night."

Adam gave him a conciliatory slap on the shoulder, "Forget it. It's in the past. Let bygones be bygones. I believe people can change."

"Yes, they can. But, see, I don't wanna forget about it. Things changed for me that night. Joan saved my life."

"She... she does that," Adam said very quietly, relieved that he didn't have to expand any more. Ramsey already knew all he needed to know, that Joan had been his angel once. And that was enough.

Even over the din of the party music, Steve caught what Adam said. He simply nodded.

"How did you get invited to this anyway? You weren't exactly part of our graduating class."

"I still had to go to school in lock-up. After I served my time, I lived in a halfway house, got counselling and did the summer GED program here. We all got invited to the reunion, which was pretty nice of the school really. Most of us didn't deserve it."

"How'd you get into the social work thing?"

"My probation officer enrolled me in a state program at Arcadia Community College. I did two years there and then went into a paid internship with Maryland CPS. Nowadays, I work for Hogan County DFACS," Ramsey explained.

"Very cool," Adam nodded.

"Joan tells me you work for a design studio?"

"Yeah, Liquid Designs. Actually made partner earlier this year."

Steve whistled, clearly impressed. "Wicked. Congratulations are in order again, I suppose."

"Well, it's not like it was my ultimate goal when I started working there, not in my wildest dreams. It just kinda happened. But the money's good and I like the work so I'm not complaining." And maybe it was the influence of the two and a half beers Adam had already, but he asked Steve a little bluntly, "So, no female company for you tonight?"

Steve smiled a bit ruefully. "Nah, no one's on the horizon right now. Although..." he scanned the room, "quite a few women here I wouldn't mind dating."

Adam chuckled. "I hadn't really noticed. My hot chick radar's been switched off since I put on the ring."

Steve gave him a good-natured thump in the chest. "Come on! Getting married doesn't mean you stop looking at women."

"You'd think!" Adam teased. They both laughed and it made Adam remember when they were kids. They had been great pals then. But around the time his mom died, Adam remembered Steve growing sullen and angry, lashing out at anyone and everyone. In his own agony, Adam had not been able to reach out to him. So they drifted apart. It was a shame too because Steve had been pretty cool up 'til that time. Years later, Adam learned that the trouble started for Steve when his mom married a man who had no interest in raising her son as his own. And Steve's dad had moved to the other side of the country and started a new family. No wonder the guy had become so lost and full of rage.

But now he really seemed to have turned his life around. Adam made a mental note to give Steve his card so they could get reacquainted. Maybe they could go out together some time. Hell, he might even fix Steve up with one of his single colleagues from the studio.

"If you don't mind me asking," Steve said, "how exactly did you and Joan get together? Last I remember from high school, you guys weren't even talking to each other."

"Long story."

Steve shrugged. "I've got time."

Adam didn't know if he really wanted to go there, but he supposed he could give him the Reader's Digest version. "Well, the first time we got together was shortly after the semi-formal. We were together for about a year, then we broke up. We kinda stayed friends when we went off to college. I mean, we always tried to stay in touch, you know? Didn't always succeed. Then I came back to Arcadia two years ago, and we saw each other once in a while, got together with Grace occasionally. You remember Grace?"

"Polk? Yeah, sure."

Adam nodded, continuing. "It was pretty casual, but there was always, like... this connection, you know?"

He didn't, actually. He'd never experienced anything like what Adam was describing, but he nodded as if he understood completely.

"Then, last year... well, we sort of found each other again."

"Sounds like quite a roller coaster ride."

Interesting choice of words. "Man, you have no idea," Adam smiled, thinking of some of the more adventurous experiences he'd had with Joan since they got back together. He was accumulating stories to rival Brody's. Except he'd never been the type to share the intimate details of his love life the way his buddy was.

There was a short pause in the conversation before Steve asked, "So, how's your dad doing?"

The question hit Adam a little unexpectedly, and there was that tiny jolt of pain in his stomach, but he swallowed it down quickly. How was Steve supposed to know? Adam's voice was more sombre as he said, "He, uhm..." He had to clear his throat. "He died last year."

Steve's expression was immediately compassionate, even a little embarrassed. "Oh Jesus, I'm so sorry to hear that, man. He was a real nice guy."

Adam gave him an encouraging smile. "He was."

"Can I ask what happened?"

"It was a stroke, he died very suddenly, at work. I know it's only a small comfort, but at least he didn't see it coming, wasn't in pain or anything."

"Yeah..." Steve sighed, not knowing what else to say.

"One good thing came out of it, though," Adam said in a hopeful tone. "I was kinda lost when it happened and, I don't know, the only place I could think to go was to Joan. She was really there for me, pulled me through it. We've been together ever since. Guess you need to take your tragedies and cherish your blessings, huh?"

"Definitely. I'm glad you guys are doing so well."

Just at that moment, out of the corner of his eye, Adam spotted Bonnie just parting with a threesome that she had been talking to for the last fifteen minutes. To Steve, he casually said, "Uh, can you excuse me? There's someone I need to talk to."

Steve's eyes wandered to the woman Adam was looking at. He didn't recognize the pretty brunette, but she made him wonder a little about Adam's supposedly switched-off hot chick radar. "Okay, sure," he said.

"It was good to see you, man." He moved away from Steve and slowly approached Bonnie. Her back was turned to him and he walked up without being noticed. "Uhm, can I get an autograph?"

Bonnie turned with a slight start at the sound of his voice. She could hardly believe it. "Adam!" she said, genuinely glad to see him, even though she was absolutely certain he had always hoped she was long gone.

"In the flesh," he smiled awkwardly.

Was he being... nice? "I wondered if you were gonna speak to me," she said with a sheepish little glance into his eyes.

"Felt wrong not to," he said honestly and shrugged slightly.

She nodded. That was Adam. Giving him a quick once-over, she said, "You look great."

"You too," he told her, and he meant it. "Grace tells me you've taken the New York art scene by storm. Congratulations." He meant that, too.

"Thanks," she smiled at him, and it was a beautiful smile that really lit up her face. She didn't look so much like a broken doll anymore. She was simply a pretty young woman now. "What about you? What are you up to these days?"

"I made partner this year at Liquid Designs. You know, the big studio over on Harvard and East. I'm the youngest one ever, in fact."

"Excellent. What about your stuff? You still do that?"

"Yeah, sure. It's in the blood. I've had a few shows... Nothing like what you've done, though."

She watched him shrug like he didn't really want to talk about that so much. Was he a little... jealous? "I've been lucky," Bonnie said, carefully. That wasn't what she was really curious about anyway. "So... you and Joan? How'd that happen? After, you know... everything."

Adam looked down, then back at Bonnie, trying to focus on where he and Joan were now, not where they were then. "We... kinda went through hell to get here."

Bonnie involuntarily looked down at his hands. She had always liked Adam's hands, even for the short time she had known him. The silver rings he used to wear were gone now, replaced by a glinting gold wedding band. "Wow, you're married?" she blurted.

He followed her gaze, then lifted his hand and wriggled his fingers a little. "Yeah," he said, looking at the ring. He loved Jude's bands, the weight and the feel and the bond they signified. "We got married just last month, but we've been back together for about a year."

"And you're—? I mean, you seem really ha-happy."

"I am," he smiled, recalling his words to Joan on the roof only a short while before. "_We_ are," he corrected.

"I'm glad..." Bonnie sighed, looking down at her shoes. "It's kind of a relief."

"Relief?"

"That you're together after all."

Adam drew her eyes to his, locked her in. "I lost her for five years because of you." It sounded harsher and more accusing than he wanted it to, but those were years he would've given almost anything to spend with Joan, years he could never get back. He couldn't help but still be bitter about that sometimes. About how Bonnie once told him, back in high school that she had targeted him because she wanted to lash out at Joan.

"OK, I guess I deserve that," she acknowledged, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with him, as hard as it was. Her eyes filled with tears, but she sniffed them back.

Watching her, he knew she had been right, all those years ago, calling him an asshole and an easy mark.

He _was_ an asshole. Maybe she came on to him, but he'd made a choice. It was the worst one of his life, the one that still stalked him in his weaker moments.

Drawing in a breath, he knew he needed to finally talk about it with her. "Look, I know it was my fault, too. But I never would've even... thought about that... I just liked your art and I thought you were a cool person. I would never have hit on you. Ever."

"I knew you wouldn't. I knew that part was on me. I never came on so strong with anyone. I never had to... We both knew it was wrong. And we _both_ did it anyway."

"Yeah." She hit the nail square on the head. That was the thing that haunted him still.

She briefly looked away, toward the others, his friends, _his wife? _Wow. Then she focused on Adam again. If they were talking openly, she might as well be candid after all these years. "I lied to you when I got mad and said that I never liked you. I knew who you were way before we met. I always liked you. I know it's ridiculous, and I had no right, but it hurt, the way you treated me."

"I know," he acknowledged flatly, impassively. He hadn't just hurt Joan with his behavior, he'd hurt Bonnie too. And he had never really considered her feelings in any of it.

She nodded. She hadn't expected an apology from him. Did she deserve one? "We're different people now," she said. "Maybe we're better?"

"We're better," he agreed. And then he stopped for a second and amended that, "Or trying to be."

"Right."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced away and then back at her, trying to figure out how to say what he knew he needed to say. "I did treat you like shit. And I'm sorry."

She was so stunned, she couldn't respond.

"I really am."

Still speechless, she merely nodded.

"So, are you... with someone, or...?" he asked tentatively.

"My relationship just crashed and burned actually. He was too controlling. I was over it. Don't ever be like that with her, OK?"

He laughed a little. Who could ever control Joan? "I couldn't if I wanted to," he admitted. Besides, her unpredictable nature was one of his favorite things about her.

"Good." Bonnie said with a friendly smile. Glancing over to where Joan was standing with Grace, the smile gave way to a more troubled expression. "Do you... do you think she'd talk to me?"

Adam looked back at his wife and his best friend, hesitating a moment. "I don't know. Want me to ask?"

Bonnie nodded slowly. "It's cool if she says no."

"Let me see what I can do." He thought about touching her arm encouragingly. At the last moment he realized how weird that would be. He turned around and walked over to join Joan and Grace.

"There you are," Joan chirped at him. "Finally managed to tear yourself away from her, huh?"

He gave her an almost condescending look. "Jane, it's not like that."

"I know." She sobered quickly.

He looked at her, intense, with a dumbfounding question in his eyes. Could she possibly ever agree to this? "Actually, she's... she's asking for something. A favor."

Joan had to fight to keep from snorting. "Oh. She's asking _me_ for a favor?"

His voice dropped a full octave as he looked at her. "She wants to talk to you."

"Why?"

He shrugged, looking back over his shoulder at Bonnie. He hadn't asked. "Is that really my business?"

Joan shrugged. "What if I don't _want_ to talk to her?"

"I don't know... She said it was okay if you didn't want to. It's totally up to you." And then he remembered something a really nice woman told him once. "I guess that's why it's called a _favor_."

She didn't respond. Didn't budge.

"Jane, you can finally say whatever you need to... It's time."

Movement in the background caught her eye. She watched Goth-God walk across the room, close to where Bonnie stood, as if He was trying to remind Joan of something. So this was it, huh? Bonnie was her assignment? _Again? _That had worked out so well the last time, hadn't it? Oh, this was just ridiculous. So He wanted her to talk to Bonnie. Why should she?

Joan looked across the room at her again—standing alone, probably having spoken to all seven people she knew during her whole high school career. Pathetic. What could she possibly do for this girl who had stolen so much from her?

Stolen? She still had the subdefectives, for the most part. And she had Adam. Forever. Who did Bonnie have? Could that be what He meant? Joan knew she was very fortunate. No denying that. She sighed and finally whispered to Adam, "Okay."

"Yeah?" he asked, seeking out her eyes to make sure she was really okay with it.

"Yeah," she answered, looking back at him reassuringly. "Now. Before I change my mind."

Grace, who had only observed as her two best friends negotiated this weird powwow, gave Adam a pointed glare as he watched Joan walk over to where Bonnie was now talking to Hank Kroeger. "You really think this is a good idea?" she asked.

"Grace, we're all grown ups here."

"You sure?"

He didn't answer, but the look he gave her said it all.

* * *

She was in no hurry as she made her way over. By the time Joan reached Bonnie, she was ending her conversation none too subtly with Hank. Joan remembered Hank as the Quarterback jerk who had taken over the varsity team in their senior year. Joan watched Hank move on to some other currently unattached former trollop.

Trying to sound casual, Joan said, "Hey," but it came out very stiffly.

"Hey," Bonnie responded, turning her full attention to Joan but remaining reserved.

Uncertain where to start, Joan awkwardly said, "So you flew in for the reunion from New York, huh?"

Bonnie nodded and cleared her throat, fiddling with her fingers in front of her. She said nothing.

Odd, Joan thought. But then she got it. Bonnie was nervous. This must be a pretty big deal for her, daring to show her face here.

"Joan, um... This is probably gonna sound really hollow to you, and I don't blame you if you tell me I'm full of crap. But I need to say it. When I heard about this thing, at first I didn't really give it a second thought. I was miserable here. Why would I ever wanna come back? But then it started eating at me."

"What?"

"The fact that most of my misery was of my own making," she said matter-of-factly.

Joan had no answer for that. She was sure it was true. But then wasn't that the case for most people?

"I—I really wanted to talk to you and Adam... It's kind of why I came here tonight."

"Yeah, that and throwing your success in everyone's face," Joan said snarkily.

Bonnie almost laughed. Joan was certainly right about that. "A little," she acknowledged.

After a breath, it came out in a flood, everything she had been going over in her mind from LaGuardia all the way down to BWI. "What I wanted to say... is that I'm really sorry about what happened in school, what I did. It was a pretty shitty time in my life. I hurt a lot of people. I know it's too late to make amends. I don't expect that, or anything, from anyone. I just want you to know that I understand the damage I did to you..." A chill washed over her and she shuddered. "I'm so sorry."

She met Joan's eyes, not sure what she would find in them, adding, "And I uh, I wish you guys the best." Having said her piece, she turned to walk away, maybe a little afraid of how Joan would react.

Joan was completely surprised by the mini-speech. It certainly wasn't what she had expected. She thought she might get a lame, cursory, mono-syllabic apology. She never dared imagine a seemingly heartfelt expression of empathy and remorse.

Before she could get too far away, Joan called out to her, "Hey... Bonnie? Thanks... And, um, congratulations... on all your success."

Bonnie turned and smiled at her, not breaking her stride, walking backward for a step or two. And then she disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Joan rejoined Grace, who was just basically standing there gaping. Adam was off talking to Luke and Karen.

"Well?" Grace asked, eyeing Joan skeptically.

"She apologized. Said it was the main reason she came here."

"And you buy that?"

Joan looked toward the area where Bonnie was last seen. She finally spotted her, at the coat check, collecting her long, elegant leather duster. "Look, she's leaving. Guess she was serious."

Joan almost burst into laughter when she saw Steve Ramsey stop Bonnie near the door. She watched him smile and shake her hand, turning on all the charm she knew him to have. He could be a very sweet guy.

For half a second, she wondered if Bonnie was still easy. And if maybe Adam had told Ramsey about her. Bonnie spoke to Steve for a moment and then very politely shook his hand again and left. Alone.

"Poor guy," she whispered to herself.

"What?" Grace asked, looking from Joan to what she was watching.

"I think Ramsey just hit on Bonnie."

"You're kidding. How messed up is that?"

"Who knows? They might actually have stuff in common."

"Yeah, maybe too much. You wouldn't seriously wish her on anyone, would you?"

"Not really up to me," Joan said scrunching up her nose a bit. She glanced around the room, looking for Adam as she wondered, "Man, how did she get to be so polished?"

"You mean clean," Grace specified.

"Yeah."

"Dude, her publisher got her a life coach or something, so she'd be publicly presentable. Doesn't necessarily mean she's any different on the inside."

Joan shrugged and her eyes finally fell upon her husband. It was all just too strange. "She seems different." Was that why God wanted her to talk to Bonnie? Everyone could change, right?

"So she apologized... You forgive her?"

"I didn't say that... I think I might need a little time to process this. But, I mean, yeah, maybe I could... We were kids. Kids screw up."

Adam turned and saw Joan watching him. He excused himself from Karen and Luke, and walked over to where she stood with Grace. But he didn't say anything.

"How did it feel, seeing her again?" Joan asked him.

He shrugged, but he knew she'd never let him off the hook that easily.

"Come on, Adam."

Grace, as always, would rather be anywhere but in the middle of the Girardi-Rove freak show. "Later," she said, jumping at her chance to escape to the safety of Karen and Luke's company. She almost laughed. Hanging with her lover and her ex-boyfriend was less awkward? Yep. It was.

When Adam didn't say anything, Joan cocked her head and gave him a glare.

"What?" he replied. "I don't know. It was really weird. I hoped I'd never see her again. I thought it would feel rotten. But we actually kind of cleared the air a little."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. What about you?"

"I didn't ever want to have to see her or think about her again either," she said. "I don't know how I feel about it. I've deliberately pushed it away, forced myself not to remember, ever since we got back together. But that's part of our history, isn't it?"

He nodded sadly.

"Still, you know, in the grand scheme of things, it just doesn't matter anymore. It was a million years ago. We were kids. I love you with my whole heart and I know you love me just as much. That's not in question." She looked him in the eye very seriously. He nodded at her and smiled, urging her to continue. "I don't know... I think... I think I'm starting to feel a certain amount of... closure. I guess... I'm glad everyone turned out OK."

His smile never wavered as he simply nodded and said, "Yeah, me too."

* * *

"_How much_ have you had to drink?" Joan asked breathlessly as Adam kissed her lips and her neck, pushing her against the wall as soon as they were inside the door of their house.

It had been ages since they did this. Since one or the other of them was so urgent. She pulled him in, relishing his affection, as always. He pushed the door shut and rammed her up against it with his whole body as he did so. Then he suddenly stopped and looked her directly in the eye. What in the world _was_ this?

She had driven them home since Adam had a nice little beer buzz going. What had he been thinking about over there in the passenger seat along the way that he would be so turned on?

At the moment, she couldn't really be bothered to care. She pulled him tighter still and suddenly neither one of them could wait to get upstairs.

It was over too quickly and totally without warning.

He collapsed on her and she held him tight, didn't want to let him go, sever their connection. He sighed in her ear as she did so because he had to. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Hey," she said, taking his face in her hands and drawing him back to look in his eyes. "Don't apologize," she smiled at him.

"But—"

"Shhhh..." she kissed him. "It's okay."

He acquiesced, but she watched his brow knot up like he was troubled.

"What?" she asked. And he hesitated in answering just a few seconds too long. "Wait, was that... because of her? Because you saw_ her_?"

"No!"

"She was better at it than me."

"Oh God, no," Adam said, scrunching his face up as he leaned toward her. "Look, you got that all wrong. What happened with her, it—" he struggled to explain, "aside from the fact that I was actually having sex, there was nothing sexy about it."

She seemed a bit skeptical.

He softened, looking at her, and wrapped his arms around her again. "Jane, if it's not clear when I make love to you that I'm making love to _you_, I'm doing something wrong."

"No!" she said instantly, touching his face. "You _so_ are not."

"Get this straight, OK? _Nobody_ is better than you. You're amazing."

"Because you love me."

"Sure. But also, you're an incredibly sexy woman. You knock me out. I mean, wow! Sometimes, you just make my brain like rotate around in my skull."

She giggled at his weird imagery.

"You wanna know why I got so, um..."

"Primal?"

"Wow, really?" He'd never thought of himself that way before.

She nodded. He had been, indeed. "Totally."

"Remember up on the roof?"

Again, she nodded, a smile spreading across her face.

"It carried over."

_Ah..._ That made sense. "OK," she whispered, snuggling up against him.

"We went back there to that place, and we conquered it, you know? We christened the roof," he grinned shamelessly.

"Yeah," she grinned too, remembering it.

"We faced down a demon together and gave it leave."

"Yes, we did."

"Being back in that place, I don't know... it showed me... I'm a different person, Jane."

"You are."

"I guess I just feel like... a grown-ass man, as Jamal would say. Finally."

She laughed and he did too.

"And just now... I was overwhelmed. Because I have you," he said, pulling her tight against his body. "You're all I ever wanted and you're mine. My wife. My heart."

"Baby?" she murmured, snuggling closer to him.

"Hmmmm?"

"I think maybe we faced down more than one demon tonight," she whispered.

He took her hand and held it to his face, then kissed her palm. "You and me, we're all that matters," he sighed.

The gentle reverence in the gesture made her quiver. "Mmmmm, honey, you keep that up and I'm gonna have to overwhelm you again," she whispered.

He pressed the tip of his tongue into her palm, kissing it again. "Promise?"

"Oh, you need to come here right now." She pulled him to her, sought out his lips.

Before too long, they collapsed together against the sofa pillows, Joan lying contentedly with her Adam.

All doubt obliterated.

And the past finally relegated to the place where it belonged—the past.


End file.
